


Five Years Gone

by sodium_amytal



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Developing Relationship, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 113,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the car accident that wrecked his life and left him a widower, Jimmy Page has spent the last five years in mourning. Everything changes when his daughter, Scarlet, begins kindergarten, and Jimmy meets her eccentric hippie teacher, Robert. Robert is a blast of color in the dreary landscape of Jimmy’s world, and Jimmy feels a spark. Ravaged by a tragedy of his own, Robert’s approach to grief is the opposite of everything Jimmy knows. Together, they build a relationship that just might fill the holes in their lives.</p><p>That contentment is gone in the blink of an eye, however, when Jimmy receives a mysterious letter haranguing him about the accident and raising the startling question that Scarlet may not even be his daughter.</p><p>Jimmy soon discovers the circumstances surrounding the accident have implications far more disturbing than anything he imagined. As his investigation grows, he finds himself uncovering secrets about his past and the people he left there, including the fiancée he lost long ago. But how deep does Jimmy want to dig into the darkness when the results could put his life in jeopardy? And does he have the strength to survive what he finds there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Five Years Gone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969277) by [leotart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart), [sodium_amytal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal)



> Here it is, my over-hyped '75 AU! Obviously, this story isn't going to be all rainbows and sunshine, but there are lots of fluffy, happy moments to make it worth your while. And if you like angst, well, this is definitely your cup of tea. Weighing in at 100k+ words, this one's a doozy, so I appreciate anyone who sticks around for more. Updates will be about one chapter per week, considering each chapter is, like, 10+ pages.

**Book 1**

_The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone._

_~_ Harriet Beecher Stowe

* * *

 "Wait—wait, can we take it from the top? Page is out of tune again."

Jimmy Page sighs and stills his hands over the guitar. He rolls his eyes so hard he can see the roof of his skull. Fucking primadonnas.

The singer, the single douchiest-looking human Jimmy's ever seen, scowls like Jimmy's something left unflushed in a toilet. It's as though the worst aspects of a punk rocker, an alpha male wannabe, and a spoiled brat took human form. His goatee looks sketched on in pencil, and he's sporting enough piercings to double as a wind instrument. His mohawk wants to say "fuck society" but instead screams "I wasn't hugged enough as a child."

Jimmy plucks each string in succession to prove how perfectly in-tune he is. The band is not impressed. "Sounds fine to me," Jimmy says, feigning innocence.

The recording engineer cuts in. "You blokes know it costs about twenty pounds a minute to be in here, right?"

Jimmy sneaks a glance at his wristwatch. Christ, it's already five o'clock. Can these assholes just record the fucking song before the day's over?

"From the top, then."

The song is stupefyingly simple, composed of power chords and minimal variation on its structure. Jimmy isn't actually a member of the band. Rather, he's a studio musician, hired by producers to fatten up the inadequate sounds of inexperienced guitarists.

Since the debut of the Sex Pistols, punk rock groups have exploded in popularity. They all want a heavy sound with blistering solos, but not all the guitarists have the skill. This is where Jimmy comes in. His ability to duplicate any style of guitar—as well as add his own personal flair—has earned him a solid reputation amongst producers and music connoisseurs.

But most groups fall prey to ego and seethe over outside musicians playing on their records. Especially these new punk groups who seem to thrive on a combative attitude, trying too hard to prove they don't care what society thinks of them. Jimmy misses the days when rebellion wasn't about being loud and angry. Man, does that make him sound every one of his thirty-one years.

Halfway through the song, Mohawk cuts in again: "Hold it, hold it!"

The music stops.

Mohawk glares at Jimmy with the kind of condescension reserved for sacrilege. "The hook is s'posed to go A-D-D-A-E. You're throwing in these random notes. Why?" Like he's Mr. Expert.

"It sounds better," Jimmy explains, "layered over the rhythm guitar."

The band's guitar player scowls at Jimmy.

Jimmy wants to walk out on these self-righteous douchebags, but he can't afford to burn bridges. Music is his life, infused in his bloodstream. Five years ago, Jimmy thought he'd never play guitar again. He relishes every moment he's got full control of both his hands, because he remembers how close he came to losing it all.

Studio work isn't Jimmy's first choice, but he's not dealing with the ego-fueled clusterfuck of joining a band again. Solo work is out of the question too. His role as a single father limits his touring schedule to "never." So he works with what he's got.

"And you want a bit of variation going on there underneath the second verse," Jimmy adds, as if an explanation might sway the band. "It keeps the energy going, you know?"

Mohawk says, "Look, just do the song the way we wrote it, and then for the solo you can do that thing with the bow on your guitar. Y'know, make it sound cool."

Jimmy heaves a sigh. "The thing with the bow" is a trick Jimmy learned from his early session days. By dragging a violin bow across guitar strings, he can create long, sonorous sounds.

"That's a very particular sound. I don't think it would mesh with this track," Jimmy says. "You're not playing experimental, psychedelic music; it would sound out of place."

It's at that moment Jimmy realizes he's wasting his breath and his time. If these idiots want to cram in techniques just for the cool factor, let them. The success of the record is out of Jimmy's control anyway. All he's hired to do is punch up the sound, not rewrite the damn thing.

So Jimmy shoves his inner critic into a locked room and plays through the song. He adds the bowed-string sound to the drone of the solo.

To answer the obvious question, yes, Jimmy hates himself.

When the session's finished, Jimmy curses the world, slides into his car and heads home. "Home" for Jimmy is a too-big, two-story house in Kensington he shares with his daughter. He parks in his own driveway, walks across the front yard to Jonesy's house next door.

Jonesy's full name is John Paul Jones, but only his wife calls him John. Jimmy and Jonesy's friendship began over a decade ago when they both worked as studio musicians—Jimmy on guitar, and Jonesy on bass guitar. As time went on, Jonesy expanded his repertoire to include the keyboard and arrangements, but he quickly burnt out on the whole scene and quit once he got married.

Almost immediately after Jimmy knocks, Jonesy's wife, Mo, answers the door. "Oh, Jimmy, we were just about to have dinner. Would you care to join us?"

Jimmy opens his mouth to say no, because he shouldn't impose on them any more than he already has. But he hears himself say, "If you don't mind."

"Of course not! You're family," she says and ushers Jimmy inside. A mouth-watering scent wafts through the house as they near the kitchen. Jimmy steps over the toys and dolls lying scattered on the floor like war wounded.

"Scarlet," Mo calls, "your daddy's here!"

"Daddy!" Scarlet abandons the block tower she's building and sprints toward him. She wraps his leg in a big hug.

Years ago, Jimmy played guitar for raucous, energetic crowds, basked in the roar of applause and chants for an encore, but none of it holds a candle to how his daughter's unconditional adoration makes him feel.

"Hey, kiddo." He bends down, ruffles her blonde hair. "How was your day?"

"Good! I helped Aunt Mo make dinner!"

Jimmy smiles. "You did? I'm sure it's wonderful."

The dinner table's already set with platters of delicious-smelling food. "So, how was work?" Jonesy asks Jimmy over plates of quiche.

Jimmy shakes his head and sighs.

Jonesy grins. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Jimmy laments, stabbing at his food. "These people are insufferable."

"Maybe you're just getting old, chap," Jonesy teases. He's got no room to talk, because he's only two years younger than Jimmy. "I'm sure we weren't always the best of company."

Jimmy scoffs. "Speak for yourself. I was a delight."

Mo snags a roll from the basket in the middle of the table. "Jimmy, do you have plans on the 25th?"

They all know he doesn't.

Jimmy shakes his head, as if she actually expects him to answer.

"I already told John the good news—I'm sorry, I couldn't wait—but I got promoted to head chef today." While Jonesy takes care of their two daughters Tamara and Jacinda, ages ten and nine, Mo works at a local restaurant. She cooks a variety of foods, taking inspiration from all over the world. Jimmy tries to recreate her recipes at home, with varying success.

"Congratulations," Jimmy says.

Mo smiles, but there's a hint of unease to it. "Anyway, the restaurant's having a big soiree on the 25th—a grand re-opening, of sorts—and we were wondering if you and Scarlet would want to come and... enjoy the evening with us?" She takes care in selecting the words, but they still come out wrong.

A knot builds in Jimmy's throat. He knows, of course, why she's inviting him. On September 25th, five years ago in Richmond, Surrey, Charlotte Martin, Jimmy's fiancée and the mother of his daughter, died in a car accident. She was driving; Jimmy was in the passenger seat. The roads were wet from rain the previous night. The tires slipped, losing traction, and the brakes failed.

Boom. Just like that, Jimmy's world was forever altered. The car flipped over. Charlotte most likely died on impact. Jimmy hadn't been so lucky.

For Mo to ask him to celebrate anything on this bleak day is obscene.

Scarlet tugs at Jimmy's sleeve to get his attention. She gives him that wide-eyed look she gets when she wants something. "Can we go, Daddy?"

It takes the length of one heartbeat for Jimmy to say, "Of course." He looks at Mo and Jonesy, says, "We'd love to come."

Mo and Jonesy share a look. Jimmy surmises that's one of those "married couple" things he'll never understand, being so in tune with each other you can communicate through facial expressions.

After dinner, Jimmy excuses himself from the table for a smoke. He slides open the porch door and digs the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Striking a match, he admires the fading sunlight against the multi-colored leaves. Jonesy's backyard is almost a full-scale playground: there's a swing set, a jungle gym, and a pink clubhouse. Jonesy's even been talking about putting in a swimming pool now that the girls are older.

Jimmy closes his eyes and takes a long drag. The nicotine keeps his mind off the memories clawing at the edges of his consciousness. After the accident, Jonesy oh-so-subtly informed Jimmy that his neighbors had moved out and there was a home for sale in Kensington if Jimmy ever wanted a fresh start.

So, Jimmy took Scarlet and moved in next door to Jonesy and Mo. For the last five years, Jonesy has played an integral part in Jimmy's sanity, serving as a confidante as well as a babysitter; Jimmy is infinitely grateful.

Jonesy joins Jimmy outside and stands downwind of the smoke. They stare out at the autumn foliage for a moment before Jonesy decides to ruin it all by opening his mouth. "So," he starts, dragging out the word. Jimmy knows where this conversation is going and braces himself for it. "There's this waitress at the restaurant—"

" _No_."

"—would you just listen before you say no?"

Jimmy sighs and lets Jonesy continue with this doomed-to-fail sales pitch.

"Her name is Pamela. She's about your height, a redhead, digs astrology and music and poetry. She's not too bad to look at, either."

Jimmy pushes the hair out of his face. "I said no."

Jonesy fixes him with a look of earnest concern. Jimmy ignores it, takes another drag off the cigarette. "It doesn't have to be a serious thing, you know," Jonesy says. "It's been five years, Jim. You owe it to yourself to have a little fun."

"Why do you keep trying to get me laid?" Jimmy asks with a meaningful eyebrow lift. "Really, just come out and ask for a ménage à trois already."

Jonesy huffs a laugh and shakes his head. Nothing sticks in Jonesy's craw like Jimmy's particular brand of bantering, quipping, and insulting his way through occasions calling for sincerity.

"Is that why Mo invited me? Because she wants me to meet this chick?"

Joney shrugs in a way that says nothing at all. "That's not the only reason. You can't just sit in the house and mope. It's not healthy."

Jimmy gestures with his cigarette, indicating that he gives zero fucks about that.

Jonesy hesitates a bit before trying another avenue. Jimmy hopes this isn't going to lead into a conversation about feelings and his intimacy issues. "At the very least, can't you think about what's best for Scarlet?"

Oh, so it's a guilt-trip. Nicely executed, Jonesy.

"Not having a mother is probably the worst thing that could happen to a little girl." Jonesy glances through the glass at his own daughters. God, this is nauseating. Did he script this?

Jimmy says nothing, just sucks on his cigarette like it's a oral life preserver.

"Just think about it, won't you? I understand that you don't like blind dates, but, y'know, it's the idea of going out and meeting someone, is all." Jonesy shrugs. "You've been lonely too long."

"You're never lonely when you've got a five-year-old 'round the house."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." Jimmy takes one last drag before dropping the cigarette onto the porch and stubbing it out with his shoe. "But, John, I'm really growing sick of you and Mo throwing every sad, lonely woman you know at me."

Jonesy glances off, embarrassed. He knows this subject is utterly forbidden. Raising the topic this close to the anniversary of Charlotte's death is off-limits.

"You'll still come, won't you?" Jonesy pouts, which he shouldn't do, because it makes him look twelve years old. "It would mean a lot to Mo. And me, of course."

"And Scarlet," Jimmy says, effectively ending the conversation.

Scarlet doesn't raise a fuss about going home that evening, eager to return to her pencils and crayons. Jimmy had a brief stint in art college, so he introduced his daughter to the concept of painting and drawing. Scarlet took to it immediately, and her artwork's on par with that of Jonesy's kids. Not that Jimmy's bragging or anything. Not at all. Okay, maybe a little.

She doesn't give him any trouble at bedtime either, because they have somewhat of a routine. He tucks her into bed and reads to her until one of them falls asleep. Even before she could talk, Scarlet tried to read the same books Jimmy would read to her. Now, she can read  _him_  a bedtime story.

So she does. Jimmy's a pretty avid listener, eager to hear his daughter's progress, so he stays awake until Scarlet's closing the book with a triumphant look on her face.

"The end," she announces proudly. "Time for bed, Daddy."

Jimmy smiles. "Alright, love." He gets up from the bed, making sure her plush animal "army" is tucked in around her before he switches off the bedside lamp. "Sweet dreams."

"G'nite."

Jimmy heads downstairs into the kitchen. The tile's cold under his feet. He plucks a glass from the cabinet, finds the half-empty bottle of Jack on the top shelf. He pours himself three fingers' worth and swallows it down.

A few more shots make his eyelids heavy enough to sleep.

* * *

The world's spinning, made of panic, screeching metal, and imploding glass. Jimmy slams against something hard, hard enough that he hears a snap of bone. Pain flares up in his arm. His left hand feels like it's missing, which is not a comforting feeling _at all._

When the rolling finally stops, his heart's thumping loud in his chest. Blood drips into his eyes, and he can't make sense of anything around him. He can hardly breathe, can't hear anything over the roar of the ocean in his ears. Something squishes underneath his head, and he doesn't even want to  _know_.

Jimmy's panic skips up several notches when he looks over to the driver's seat and sees Charlotte. Her face is bloodied and battered. She doesn't seem to be moving. Or breathing.  _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"Charlotte?" The word shakes out in a strained, wet sob. Jimmy reaches out for her. Hot knives blast through his arm. He's broken something, he just  _knows_  it. But his right arm seems to be working. He touches his trembling fingers to the side of Charlotte's blood-soaked cheek. "Open your eyes, love. Tell me you're okay," he rasps, his voice panicked and half-crazy.

He's feeling for a pulse on Charlotte's neck when the world goes grey at the edges. The last thing he remembers is collapsing in a weeping mess against Charlotte's broken body before his consciousness ebbs away.

* * *

The memory jerks Jimmy out of sleep. His heart hammers in his chest, and he sits up, pushes a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He's relieved to see he's back in his bedroom, that the vivid dream had been just that. But his body won't stop quaking from the surge of adrenaline in his veins. He can still feel the whiplash into sudden darkness, the jarring scream of metal and tires.

Jimmy kicks his way free of the blankets. He takes the stairs, careful not to make the third step creak its primordial mating call. The first floor of the house is dark and eerily silent, but there's enough light bleeding through the curtains to guide Jimmy into the kitchen.

He takes out the bottle of Jack and refills his glass.

He knows, of course, why the dream resurfaced tonight: the anniversary of the accident is slowly approaching. That bleak day looms in wait like an executioner.

Five years. Five years since that awful night.

If Jimmy's honest, he thinks about her more than he lets on. But he doesn't talk about her or the accident. Some would misconstrue that as an attempt at machismo, but the simple truth is talking about Charlotte hurts too much. It brings back all the awful memories of that night. It brings back the guilt, the agonizing might-have-beens. Jimmy's not equipped to handle any of that. He doesn't know how anyone could be.

It's said that you never forget your first love; for whatever reason—most notably the wild hormones of youth—that person leaves an irrevocable imprint on you. That's the way it was for Jimmy. He had just turned 22 when he met Charlotte—then an 18-year-old model—and there was an instant attraction. It was Shakespearean in every sense of the word. Jimmy always dreamed of a love like that, but now he knows the bitter truth behind the fairy tale: when they die, a part of you dies too.

Jimmy pours himself another shot.

The accident made headlines, because the story had all the media's favorite tasty morsels: a rock star grievously injured, the tragic death of a gorgeous model, and an extra heaping of tragedy in the loss of a young mother.

Jimmy often wonders where Charlotte would be now—where she  _should_  be now—what she might look like today. She'd be unable to sleep tonight, too anxious about Scarlet's first day of kindergarten tomorrow. She'd be approaching thirty and fretting over barely-visible laugh lines on her face, and Jimmy would reassure her she's never looked more beautiful.

Instead, Jimmy sits alone in a house that's too big and too quiet, imprisoned in solitude by his own fear of reaching out and connecting with another soul. Because, as much as he knows it's bullshit, dating would feel like a betrayal, as though he were cheating on Charlotte's memory.

But, God, he wants someone. He wants companionship and love. He wants what Jonesy and Mo have together. Jimmy used to be comfortable in isolation. He felt glory and security in being alone. Now, he only feels the pain, a loneliness unquenched—and perhaps, amplified—by a nightcap of Jack Daniels.

A creaking sound on the staircase makes Jimmy glance up from his drink. Scarlet's standing at the top of the stairs. "Daddy?" she whimpers, apprehensive, like the man standing in the kitchen could possibly be anyone else.

"What's the matter, princess? Did you have a bad dream?"

She toddles down the stairs. "I can't sleep."

That's pretty much code for "it's dark, and I'm scared to go back to sleep." Jimmy knows the drill by now.

"What's that?" she asks as she moves closer, pointing at the glass of whisky in his hand.

Jimmy's kind of amazed this particular topic hasn't come up before. "It's something grown-ups drink."

Scarlet considers that for a moment. "What's it taste like?"

"It's not very good."

"Then why do you drink it?"

"Because it makes grown-ups feel better when they're sad."

"Can I have some?"

Jimmy chuckles. "I told you, it's only for grown-ups. And you're not sad."

Scarlet shrugs and pouts, entirely out of arguments. Jimmy wonders what the best move is here. Painting it as something for adults might make her more interested in it later as a way of seeming more mature. If Charlotte were still around, Scarlet would try on her mother's clothes and high heels and paint her face with make-up, but Charlotte's gone, so Scarlet will inevitably try to emulate her father, and Jimmy really doesn't want his daughter to become a hopeless alcoholic.

The glass has about a tablespoon left of liquid in it. Jimmy knows she won't like it; kids are just one giant sugar taste bud anyway. So he relents and offers it to her. Scarlet grabs the glass in her tiny, greedy hands and takes a drink.

"Eww," she groans, her face scrunched in disgust. "That's yucky."

Jimmy laughs. "I told you it wasn't very good." He sets the now-empty glass in the sink and places the bottle back on the shelf. "Now let's get back to sleep, yeah?"

He climbs the staircase and guides her back into her bedroom, leading the way to show that it's safe. After tucking her into bed, he lies beside her, offering the comfort of his presence. Scarlet studies his expression; Jimmy's not sure what she sees there. It must distress her, because she raises a tiny hand to his face and says, "It's okay, Daddy."

If Jimmy were a stronger man, he wouldn't let those tears squeeze out of his eyes. She shouldn't have to say that to him, damn it. He's a horrible father and he hates himself.

He takes a deep breath and forces up a genuine smile, because children can see past all the bullshit pretense and make you for a liar. "Are you excited for your first day of school?"

Scarlet shrugs indifference. "I guess."

"You'll have fun. You'll get to make friends."

"I've got friends," she says matter-of-factly, referring to Jonesy and Mo's daughters.

God, don't let Scarlet inherit the worst of Jimmy's hermit-like tendencies. "And an answer for everything, don't you?" he teases, tweaking her tiny nose. Scarlet giggles, so much like her mother that Jimmy feels the pow in his chest.

He pulls the blankets over her and rights her stuffed animals that have fallen askew. "It's time for bed, sweetheart. Do you want me to stay 'til you fall asleep?"

Scarlet nods. Jimmy settles in, wraps an arm around her and tucks her up close. She curls a hand in the front of Jimmy's shirt, her eyes already closed, her breathing slowing down as she drifts into sleep.

Lying there in the dark watching his daughter, Jimmy feels love in places he never knew existed within him. He feels fear and dread that he will fuck this up, that his beautiful, perfect little girl will grow up to resent him in a way only truly damaged children can. He fleetingly hates Charlotte for leaving him to raise their daughter alone, then he hates himself for hating her, and he stays in an endless cycle of self-pity and anger until the whisky kicks in like a turbine engine and drags him into sleep.

* * *

There was a time when Robert Plant used to look forward to teaching a new room full of kindergarteners each autumn. Today, however, the tick of the clock feels like a death toll.

For the past few years, Robert had a family, a son of his own to come home to. Now his "home" is a lonely one-bedroom flat not too far from the infamous Abbey Road. He can dress it up with photographs and memories and colorful decorations, but the flat will always be dead and lifeless like his son, Karac.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Robert flinches at the voice. For a brief moment, he'd forgotten that he's not alone. "Y—yeah, absolutely. I'll be fine."

Bonzo—his real name John Bonham—fixes Robert with that insistent look he's so freakishly good at. "Really? Because you look like you're gonna be sick."

"I always look like that," Robert scoffs, feigning casual.

"That must put the kids at ease."

Robert forces up a plastic smile in an attempt to seem reassuring. "Don't you have better things to do than babysit me?"

"Pat wanted me to check on you." Bonzo scratches his beard and leans against the refrigerator. "She still thinks you're mad for going back to work so soon."

"I don't like to sit around and do nothing. Idle hands and whatnot."

"I get it. You wanna keep busy. We just, I don't know, maybe it's too much for you. It hasn't even been two months," Bonzo says, dancing around the subject with all the finesse of a wrecking ball.

Robert picks up on the "we" there. My God, this is a combined effort. Bonzo and his wife are trying to stop Robert from going back to work. He half expects Pat to be outside in the car, ready to whisk him away to some comfy, isolated cottage until he's deemed sane.

"I've got to try sometime, right? Even if it's a total cock-up, at least I'll know I made an effort instead of just locking myself away in here."

Robert glances at the clock on the wall. Twenty-five minutes. Part of him wants to push through the anxiety and just do this, but the other half wants to take Bonzo's offer of leisure and just bathe in the grief, let it all crash in and destroy him anew.

But Robert's not one to rest on his laurels, and it's not as if he doesn't enjoy his work. It's just... harder now. Everything's harder now, but he's made it this far. Why not keep going?

"You always were a stubborn bastard," Bonzo grumbles, shaking his head as if to say "what am I gonna do with you?" He pushes off of the fridge and moves for the front door. "But, hey, if you change your mind, you know me and Pat'll be happy to help you out."

Robert nods. "Thank you." Bonzo and his family have been unbelievably helpful since Karac's death. Robert owes them so much. But as warm and inviting as the Bonhams' home is, it's a cozy reminder of everything Robert's lost. When six-year-old Jason sees him and says, "Hi, Uncle Percy!" Robert's heart breaks in his chest. When Pat and Bonzo share a kiss or embrace, Robert has to look away. He hates himself for it, but the mind does what it must to survive.

"Take care of yourself," Bonzo says before closing the front door behind him. Robert watches from the window as Bonzo heads to his car, starts the ignition, and drives away. Loneliness begins to cover him like a blanket, thick and suffocating.

Robert toys with the silver cuff around his right wrist. The bracelet had been a gift from Maureen, his now ex-wife. A memento from the days when they were happy and whole.

As cliché as it would be to say that part of Robert died along with Karac, well, the thing with clichés is most of the time they're dead-on. Maureen cried hysterically and engaged in histrionics; Robert, however, grew frighteningly placid. His cheery exuberance withered and died. He became dull and passionless, a faded world of grey, as if someone adjusted the knob on a television set and suddenly the color went off somewhere to die.

Twenty minutes.

Robert's stalling. Alfred Hitchcock once said, "There is no terror in the bang. Only the anticipation of it," and Robert knows he ought to just get the damn bang over with. It's hard to be too nervous once you're in the thick of it.

But, Christ, taking that first step... It's monumental and terrifying.

Robert breathes in deep and walks out the door.

He tries to calm his nerves by switching on the radio in the car, but the familiar music doesn't soothe him like it used to. It hasn't for a while.

The school is nestled in a cozy nook of Paddington within the city of Westminster. It's pretty much surrounded on all sides by greenery. On the west is Rembrandt Gardens, a little further north lies Little Venice Gardens, and Paddington Green encroaches from the south. The abundance of trees and vibrant foliage surrounding the school and nearby villas make the place feel like a hobbit village, some undiscovered forest alcove tucked away from the bustle and noise of the city.

Maybe it's just Robert's imagination, but when he gets inside the building he earns quite a few stares from the rest of the staff. He's used to it, of course. Male teachers are usually reserved for secondary school or the university level. And some stare out of curiosity, because Robert's long hair and sense of style isn't the typical teacher fare. But most, or so it seems, have a shade of pity to their glances now.

They're all probably thinking the same things Bonzo is: it's too soon, he should have waited longer to come back, he's not ready yet.

The only staff member who deigns to speak to him is Ms. Hamilton, a young brunette who teaches first grade. She peeks her head into his classroom and smiles. "I heard you were back. I had to see for myself."

"Word travels fast, doesn't it?"

She steps inside, pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. Her long, straight hair and thin figure are the only traces of the decade in her appearance. Her eyes and smile are reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, of Lauren Bacall, of all the Hollywood bombshells.

"You look good," she says, approaching his desk.

Robert's pretty certain she's being polite. Even though he did his best not to look like a swamp creature, ripples of grief are etched on his face. His gaze is just a little too far away, his smile doesn't quite reach the eyes. He hasn't bothered to cut his hair, just let it grow into a mass of blond curls.

"But I still shouldn't have come, right?"

"No way. I'm glad you're here. I was worried. I thought about phoning you, but I wasn't sure if I should."

Robert wonders about that. She might have been a nice distraction, but that wouldn't be fair to her.

"I would have appreciated it," he says anyway, reassuring. Hey, he wants to keep his options open.

She gives him a warm smile. "I should get back. It was nice seeing you." He watches her walk away with a modicum of interest.

And so begins the steady trickle of students.

Robert doesn't deal with the parents in the morning. Speaking with them after class, when they don't have to rush to work, creates a more relaxed atmosphere. People are more willing to stick around and talk when they're not crunched for time.

Robert stares at the wriggling huddle of eager children and almost starts looking for Karac. Almost.

The first half of the day is the hardest, so Robert pushes through it. He likes to spend a good amount of time learning names and each child's interests. The latter helps him develop activities for the rest of the year. If most of the children are artistic, he'll gear the curriculum toward the arts. If they're interested in sports, they'll spend more time on the playground.

Robert thinks every child is good at something, so he wants to nurture that ability in each of his students. When Robert was in school, he never felt particularly special or gifted. He ended up as sort of a misfit, a troublemaker. He thinks about the road untraveled, wonders how he might have turned out had his interests or talents been developed in school. It doesn't hurt to try, at least.

The kids love his classroom. Robert's got the place decorated like the realm of Middle-earth from The Lord of the Rings. Each corner and wall is a different location on the map, covered in colorful construction paper trees and mountains. Robert revels in not being forgettable. He fills the room with festive décor for holidays. He involves the class in games and light-hearted contests. When a kid does something good or remarkable, he draws a check next to their name on the chalkboard. When they misbehave, he erases a check. There's no punishment, just rewards for the student with the most check marks at the end of each month.

So much good has happened in this room over the years. Robert needs something good now more than ever.

At the end of the day, after all the parents have picked up their offspring and met Robert, one little blonde girl remains in the classroom. She's focused on drawing something, scribbling colors onto the paper in front of her.

Robert remembers her name—Scarlet—because it's an unusual name, but also because she'd been more talkative and engaged than most students are on the first day. He sits beside her on the floor. "What are you drawing?" Her artwork is neater, more controlled than most kids her age.

"Flowers. They're Mummy's favorite."

"Where is your Mum?"

"She's not here anymore," Scarlet says, as if she's describing the color of the sky. "It's just me and Daddy."

That's the most depressing fucking thing Robert's ever heard a child say. Jesus. No kid should ever have to deal with something like that. "Oh... Do you know where your daddy is, then?"

She shrugs and keeps coloring. "I guess he's at work." Not only does Scarlet's father forget to pick her up on her first day of kindergarten, but he also seems to have a habit of being late and/or forgetful.

"What does he do?"

"He plays music."

Robert hides his frown. He tries not to judge, really, he does, but he doubts the rock star life is conducive for a well-adjusted child. "Anything good?"

"I like it," Scarlet says with a smile. Robert can see in her eyes that she adores her father. And, at that age, doesn't every kid?

Robert feels a tightening in his chest and wills it away. "I'm gonna see if I can get in touch with your dad, okay?" He stands up and moves toward his desk. He keeps copies of all the students' files inside his desk for easy access to contact information. Robert opens the drawer and finds the folder for this year's class. He sorts through the papers until he finds Scarlet's sheet.

Scarlet Page. Her father is listed as a Jimmy Page in an affluent neighborhood in Kensington. He must be a decent musician if he can afford to live there. And, no, Robert's not bitter in the slightest. He doesn't make a lot of money, but he could afford a nicer flat than what he's got now. Hell, he could probably get a small house.

But it wouldn't feel right to live sandwiched between happy families in a neighborhood where the kids play football in a cul-de-sac and ride their bikes up and down the street. So Robert sequestered himself to the impersonal city instead. It's a sick form of self-flagellation, but Robert almost embraces it. Being a father had transformed him, made him better. Karac was a godsend. Then Robert fucked it all up.

There's a contact number listed, but Robert doubts calling will do much good. It's likely a home number, and if Scarlet's father isn't home, he won't answer. Dead end.

But Robert tries anyway. If this guy's a rock star, there's a chance he's passed out on the couch from quaaludes and vodka or whatever the hell those people take to numb the pain. Hearing the phone ring might wake him up.

Robert dials the number and waits through the rings. Rage simmers in his stomach. If you ever need proof that the universe is entirely fucking unfair, here it is: Robert gets Karac taken away from him, but this neglectful asshole gets to keep his kid. Unbelievable.

The phone rings and rings until Robert gives up. He sets the receiver down with a click and considers his next move. There's a listing for an emergency contact in Scarlet's file, but Robert thinks that's too easy an out for this guy. Robert  _wants_  to confront him, wants him to know he's being shitty and neglectful. If someone else picks up Scarlet, Robert's letting the father off the hook.

Maybe if Karac was still here, Robert would let something like this slide. But now? No way.

"Scarlet, do you want me to put some music on while we wait for your dad?"

"Yeah!"

Robert switches on the radio. Karac loved music. Robert used to play records for him, used to sing to him when he couldn't sleep. He wonders why he's thinking about that now. Funny how the mind works sometimes.

He gets up from the desk and moves over to Scarlet, admiring her artwork. "That's very pretty," he says, kneeling at her side. "Could I have it when you're done? I'd love to hang it up here."

Scarlet smiles, thrilled at the compliment, and hands the drawing to him. "Thank you."

"Thank  _you_." Robert finds the perfect spot at the front of the classroom. "There," he says, taping the picture underneath the chalkboard, "now everyone can see it."

Robert spends the next thirty minutes learning all about Scarlet's likes and dislikes. Her next drawing depicts an elven princess, which starts them into talking about  _The Lord of the Rings_. Robert quickly learns this is her favorite thing ever. Her father has good taste, at least.

Midway through their conversation, Scarlet looks over Robert's shoulder, and a huge smile breaks out on her face. "Daddy!" She rushes to the door with her drawing clenched tight in her hands.

Show time. Robert stands up and follows the girl. He wants to give this man a stern lecture about the importance of fatherhood, but all the words fall out of his brain the moment he gets a look at the guy. He's  _gorgeous_. His eyes are green and glorious, his hair a tangled mop of black. He's almost as tall as Robert, which is no easy feat, his build long and lean. His face is innocent and dangerous all at once, heaven and hell.

"Daddy, look!" Scarlet says, holding the drawing out to him. "I made it for you!"

Her father lowers himself down to her level for a better look. "That's beautiful, honey," he says, and, shit, even his voice is perfect. "I love it." You wouldn't expect a dark-haired sex god like this to have a voice that's kind of soft and nasally, but it works on him.

Scarlet wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tight. Robert tries not to be moved by the display, tries to keep his anger at the forefront. Because this guy is forty-five minutes late, and that shit is just not acceptable.

"I'm so sorry," the father says to Robert, rising up to his feet. "I couldn't get out of work in time. It won't happen again."

After a brief moment of catatonia, Robert responds with, "I—um, you're her father?"

"Y—yes, Jimmy Page. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr—?"

"Plant." If he hears this gorgeous man speak his name he's going to die from a lack of blood to the brain. Best to keep this relationship purely professional.

"Thank you for watching her."

"It's not a problem. Scarlet's a lovely girl." Robert studies Jimmy curiously. "Where did you say you work again?"

"I didn't."

"Humor me."

"I flit between different studios. I'm a musician."

So Scarlet hadn't been mistaken, then. "Oh, I see." That rings a little cold in Robert's ears, but whatever. Jimmy can just fucking deal. "Anything I've ever heard?"

"Maybe," Jimmy says with a disarming smile. Robert feels a knot in his stomach as his throat goes dry. "I've played on quite a few records since I started. But, most notably, I played guitar for the Yardbirds from '66 onwards."

Robert maintains a pretty good poker face, but inside he's flabbergasted. This guy played in the Yardbirds? The same group that hosted the talents of Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck?

"You were in the Yardbirds?" Robert asks, doing his best to keep a heavy dose of skepticism in his voice. He's about to say something else when his open mouth snaps shut. Holy shit, this guy is the reason the Yardbirds broke up. Robert's a bit hazy on the details, but he remembers that the guitarist had been in an automobile accident. Maybe he'd been injured so severely he couldn't play, and the band called it quits.

Robert feels a bit like an ass, but it's not like he's the one who forgot to pick up his daughter. Okay, Jimmy didn't  _forget_ , but there's still a great deal of parental negligence that only a single father could get away with. If a single mother pulled this stunt, she'd be viewed as unfit. When a father does it, it's written off as male helplessness.

Robert's an equal-opportunity hater, so he's going to judge Jimmy just as he would any other parent. Even if Jimmy is unfairly attractive.

"Well," Robert says, clearing his throat. "That still doesn't excuse being so late."

Jimmy's eyes are pleading. "I know, and I'm terribly sorry. I won't take up any more of your time. It was nice meeting you."

"Likewise."

Jimmy scoops his daughter into his arms. Scarlet climbs over his shoulder and waves at Robert. "Bye, Mr. Plant!"

Robert can't help but wave back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

When Robert gets home, he absolutely doesn't dig through his record collection to find the Yardbirds'  _Little Games_  LP. He  _doesn't_.


	2. Chapter 2

For the next two weeks, Jimmy's on his best behavior picking Scarlet up on time from school each day. Robert doesn't know what to think about the guy. Sure, he's ridiculously, inhumanly attractive, but there's something about him that bugs Robert. He's glad, though, that Jimmy— _Mr. Page_ —hasn't been late in a while; he really, really doesn't want to have that conversation again. It was awkward enough the first time.

Halfway through September, Robert catches Jimmy before he leaves in a swarm with the other parents. "Oh, uh, Mr. Page! I'm sure Scarlet's already invited you, but if you have the time, it would mean a lot to me and the class if you could come in for Career Day next week."

Jimmy smiles in a way that catches Robert off-guard. "Oh, yeah, Scarlet may have mentioned something about that."

"Please, Daddy!" Scarlet begs, clinging onto his legs. "Please?"

Jimmy chuckles. "I think I can make it."

Robert's eyes go wide. "You can? Oh, that's great! Thank you! Just, um, just give a five-minute talk about what you do that's good for five-year-olds. Or you could give a demonstration, if you'd rather do that. I'm sure the kids would love to hear you play."

Another smile. "No problem. Next week, is it?"

Robert nods. "Monday, the 22nd."

"I'll be there," Jimmy promises.

When the 22nd rolls around, Robert's opinion of Jimmy has shifted into something slightly more gracious. First impressions are hard to shake, but Robert's open to giving the guy the benefit of the doubt. Because at least Jimmy's _interesting_. The other parents have jobs that might sound decent enough when explained to a classroom of five-year-olds, but in reality are boring as hell. Save for the fireman and the veterinarian, Career Day is a total snoozefest.

At least until it's Jimmy Page's turn in front of the class.

He cradles an acoustic guitar in his lap and says, "Hi, I'm Jimmy Page. I'm Scarlet's dad. I play guitar. I work in a special building called a studio where people record music. What I do is different than being in a group and performing on stage. I play music in the studio for commercials, movie soundtracks, and sometimes songs you'd hear on the radio. I'm going to play a song for you now, something that I wrote myself."

Robert's not sure what he's expecting to hear when Jimmy starts playing. Sure, Jimmy's skill on the _Little Games_ album was incredible, but he had multiple takes to get it right, plenty of equipment to alter the sound of the instrument.

But clearly Jimmy is a musical genius, because the complicated phrases and note sequences flowing from his fingers leave Robert speechless. Even the kids are mesmerized, but odds are they've never seen a real-life guitar player before. Robert spent most of his adolescence alongside aspiring musicians, spent his late teen years in dingy, dark clubs where all the hottest acts played, but none of them ever made him feel the way Jimmy does with his music.

Robert's flourishing crush isn't helped by how blushy and humble Jimmy is after class. "You were magnificent," Robert gushes. "Thank you so much for coming in."

"You're welcome," Jimmy says, looking a little embarrassed at the attention. "It was my pleasure. I'm sure Scarlet would've never forgiven me otherwise." He chuckles a soft, light sound. Robert's heart flutters in his chest.

"'Cause you're the best, Daddy!" Scarlet chirps.

Jimmy laughs, and, man, Robert is falling hard for this guy's smile. "Is that so?" Scarlet nods enthusiastically. "Well, then, I hope you still feel that way when you're older." She rolls her eyes as though they've had this conversation before.

Jimmy fixes his gentle gaze on Robert; Robert learns that's a dangerous thing. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Scarlet waves at they're walking away. "Bye, Mr. Plant!"

Robert might just have a tiny, infinitesimal crush on one of his student's parents. No big deal or anything.

* * *

Tuesday marks the second time Jimmy's late picking up Scarlet from school, so he chickens out on seeing Mr. Plant again and just sends Jonesy to do his dirty work, because Jimmy is a pioneer at the forefront of avoiding awkward situations. Mr. Plant's going to be super-pissed the next time he sees Jimmy, but whatever. Dude can suck it. Jimmy's a single dad—he thinks he's earned some slack here.

On Wednesday morning, Scarlet's in her room getting ready for school, and Jonesy is lingering, trapping Jimmy downstairs with his presence. This does not bode well. Jonesy only lingers when he wants something, a trait Jimmy's learned over years of friendship.

"You're, uh, you're still on for tomorrow night, right?" Jonesy asks.

Jimmy rubs the space between his eyes and sighs. "Actually, I think I'll have to take a rain check. It's a school night, and I don't want Scarlet getting to bed too late."

Jonesy's posture crumples, like someone's let all the air out of him. "Jim, please. You've got to give it a go sometime."

"On any other day, I would consider it. But, really, you've got some nerve asking me something like this."

Jonesy scoffs. "Oh, right, you've got such a full schedule of moping and drinking yourself to sleep. My mistake."

Jimmy's face creases up in angry denial. So what if he wants to mope and drink on the anniversary of his fiancée's death? He's entitled. "You are so out of line right now."

"Look, Jim, we've been more than patient with you, but you can't just be alone forever. It's not good for Scarlet." Jonesy rushes the words out, like he already knows how angry Jimmy's going to be about that last sentence.

"Don't you dare use my daughter to prove a point."

"Like you haven't been using her as an excuse?" Jonesy switches gears before Jimmy can argue with that. "I pulled a favor for you yesterday when you asked me to pick her up from school, which, by the way, her teacher was _not_ pleased about. So I think you owe me."

"Are you serious? You're counting favors now? So, what, you only help me so you can throw it in my face later as some sort of debt I have to pay back?"

"No, of course not, but after all we've done for you, is it really too much to ask you to make an effort?"

As much as Jimmy hates the whole "counting favors" shit they're apparently doing now, he knows he's asked for a lot from Jonesy and Mo. He should at least attempt to return the favor. "I'll go, but no hook-ups. No introducing me to anybody or trying to set me up."

Jonesy hesitates a second too long.

"Oh my God, that's the entire reason you want me to go, isn't it?"

Jonesy pouts, and, Jesus, no one should be able to do that during an argument. But Jimmy is immune to Jonesy's sad puppy faces, so he's not winning this one.

"Stop trying to _fix_ me," Jimmy snaps, like the word is poisoned. "Sometimes things just break and there's nothing you can do about it. Just leave it alone."

Jimmy shakes his head and scoffs an angry noise under his breath. He knows Jonesy has a point, but he's too angry to give it to him. "Scarlet," he calls up the stairs. "We're going to be late!"

Jimmy scowls at Jonesy, who's still fucking standing there like he's not the focus of Jimmy's ire. "You should leave now."

"Jim—"

"Don't make me ask you twice."

He doesn't.

Scarlet spends most of the car ride to school staring at Jimmy like he's a puzzle she's trying to figure out. Jimmy can't seem to loosen his grip on the wheel, still on edge from his argument with Jonesy. He doesn't know why Jonesy insists on hooking him up on the anniversary of Charlotte's death, the one day a year Jimmy gets to mope and drink without being judged for it. And, really, like Jonesy wouldn't sink to the bottom of the bottle if he lost Mo.

"What's wrong?" Scarlet asks.

"Nothing." It's a little too rough, too harsh for such an innocent question.

"What were you and Uncle Jonesy fighting about?"

"Nothing," he says again through a sigh.

"Then how come you were yelling?"

Jimmy doesn't think saying "because he pissed me off" is an appropriate answer. "I got upset."

"Why?"

Jimmy tightens his hands on the wheel. "Because he said things that made me mad."

Scarlet seems to sense the negative vibes flowing through Jimmy, because she doesn't say anything else for the rest of the drive. Jimmy would feel bad about that, but since she's so crazy about Mr. Plant, maybe she'll forget about it as soon as she walks through the door.

Jimmy's studio work runs late that afternoon, so he's forced to deal with the inquisition at Scarlet's school. Jimmy spends the entire drive over coming up with classy, eloquent ways to apologize for his lateness, but he knows Mr. Plant will have none of that. This marks the third time Jimmy's been late this month. He managed to avoid a lecture the last time by sending Jonesy to do his dirty work, but this time he'll have no reprieve.

Jimmy sits in the car for a minute or two wondering how horrible it would be to suffocate himself to death before he decides to just buck up and go inside.

Mr. Plant is glaring at him in a way that would make a lesser man wither. Jimmy forces up a charming smile, but those seem to only work on women. Maybe. Something else flickers on Mr. Plant's face for a split-second, then it's shoved away into some dark corner, and anger takes its place.

Scarlet rushes toward Jimmy and latches onto his legs. "Daddy!"

"Hey, sweetheart."

Jimmy bends down to pick her up when Mr. Plant says, "Scarlet, can you wait inside for a moment? I'm just gonna talk to your daddy. It won't take very long."

Scarlet hesitates, as though unwilling to leave Jimmy, but she does as she's told and waits inside the classroom.

Uh-oh.

Mr. Plant steps out into the hallway and eases the door closed. He stares straight through Jimmy, his hands on his hips. "This is the third time you've been late," he says, and he sounds like he's struggling to keep his voice calm. "Scarlet has been nervous and worried about you all day."

No one's scolded Jimmy like this since he was in school himself. What the actual fuck.

"You were late picking her up on her first day, then yesterday you're late send your neighbor to get her—who Scarlet claims to spend a lot of time with—and now you're late again today. Do you have a problem with punctuality?"

Jimmy chuckles despite himself. "Alliteration. Nice."

Mr. Plant does not look amused. Tough crowd. "None of the other parents have this kind of difficulty. You're not the only single parent around here, you know."

Damn, Jimmy was banking on that excuse. He dodges that conversational brick by saying, "So, Scarlet told you about Jonesy?"

Mr. Plant nods. "If you were more punctual, she wouldn't have so many opportunities to tell me things."

Yeah, this is an awesome start. Jimmy can be charming when he wants to be, though he's got no idea if it will work on a man. But this is as good a time as any to try, so Jimmy puts on his best caring face and goes for the gold. "I understand. I'm very sorry," he says in his soft voice reserved for wooing women. "It won't happen again."

Mr. Plant's bitch-face wavers slightly. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, and with his hands on his hips the movement strikes Jimmy as sort of feminine. "That's what you said the first time. Would you at least try to be on time for Scarlet's sake? She spent all day worrying about you. Which, I s'pose she has to, seeing as you're all she's got."

Jimmy feels a tremor in his chest, because if the world worked the way it was supposed to, Scarlet would have two parents instead of one hopeless fuck-up of a father.

Jimmy makes his voice as smooth and compelling as he can. "Why would she be worried about me when she's with you?" he says, sounding not at all patronizing or sarcastic. "Scarlet raves about you."

Flattery ought to soften him up.

Jimmy flashes a careful, subdued smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle a bit, the one Charlotte always loved. "I'll see what I can do at the studio, but the scheduling really isn't up to me. These people pay ridiculous amounts of money per minute to buy studio time, so for me to walk out before we're finished... I would run the risk of losing my job."

Mr. Plant does a pouty thing and puffs a loose blond curl out of his face. Jonesy might have a thousand different ways to pout, but Mr. Plant could give a seminar. "Your rock star charm isn't going to work on me, Mr. Page." Though clearly it has, since the anger's dropped out of his voice. He doesn't look pissed off anymore, just mildly annoyed.

Jimmy doesn't falter. "I apologize for any disrespect. How shall I make this right? It won't benefit us to be enemies."

"You can stop talking like we're in a Mario Puzo novel."

Jimmy chuckles, spreads his hands. "I'm sorry, Robert, is it?" Mr. Plant's expression softens at the sound of his name. "Tell me how to make things right between us."

"It's Scarlet you should be concerned about. She worries about you when you're late, you know. If you could at least make an effort to be on time, we'd both appreciate it."

Jimmy nods and peers past Mr. Plant, looking at Scarlet through the window there. "Then I shouldn't keep her waiting much longer."

Mr. Plant huffs an irritated noise and opens the door. Jimmy steps inside, and Scarlet hurries to him. "Are you in trouble, Daddy?"

"No, love," he says, scooping her into his arms. "Everything's fine. Are you ready to go?"

She nods, and Jimmy carries her out. "Bye, Mr. Plant!" Scarlet calls over Jimmy's shoulder, like she does every day.

And, of course, Mr. Plant answers back, "Bye, Scarlet. I'll see you tomorrow," just as he does every day.

On the drive home, Jimmy asks, "I heard you were worried about me today."

Scarlet nods like she thinks she might get scolded for it.

"Was it because I was late?"

She shrugs the shrug of a five-year-old and offers nothing else in the way of answers.

Jimmy runs through the events of the day in his head. "Was it because I got mad at Uncle Jonesy?"

She looks at him with wide eyes. Of course that's why she's upset. If Charlotte were still around, he probably would have had at least one argument with her. But because he lives alone and pretty much sequesters himself from social gatherings, Scarlet hasn't had the opportunity to learn about this kind of thing before. This is probably the first time she's heard Jimmy argue with someone—someone she cares about, at that.

"Grown-ups argue sometimes, but it doesn't mean they don't love each other," Jimmy explains. "It's just... sometimes we don't agree on things."

"What were you mad about?"

Jimmy debates how to explain. "He wanted me to do something I don't want to do." It's possible for that to sound more pathetic, but it's hard to imagine how.

Scarlet looks like she understands. "What was it?"

"He thinks I should..." The bitter part of Jimmy wants to say, "he thinks I should replace your mother," but he knows that would only do irreparable harm to Scarlet's relationship with Jonesy. Just because Jimmy's pissed at him doesn't mean Scarlet has to be too. "He wants me to start dating."

"Does that mean I'll get a new mummy?"

Jimmy winces. Clearly, honesty is not the proper route when dealing with his daughter on this topic. "Well..."

As out of line as Jonesy might have been in using Scarlet as argumentative leverage, Jimmy can't deny she would be better off with another parent around the house. Jimmy can't do it all, and he can't ask Jonesy and Mo to pick up the slack. Just because Jonesy home-schools his daughters doesn't mean it's fair to treat him like a babysitter.

"I don't know," Jimmy admits. "Is that—is that what you want?"

Scarlet thinks it over. She wasn't even one year old when Charlotte died, so she doesn't have a lot of memories to draw upon. "All my friends have mummies," she says, thoughtful. "I want a mummy so you won't be sad anymore."

Her words hit him like a sucker punch, and Jimmy realizes there are parts of his heart still able to be broken. Now he has to go to that goddamn dinner tomorrow night.

"If that's what you want."

"I want you to not be sad."

"Me too, sweetheart. But... when I meet other women, I can't help but compare them to your mummy. I know it's wrong, but I don't think I could love another woman as much as her."

"What about Mr. Plant?"

"What about him?" Sometimes Scarlet's subject changes give Jimmy conversational whiplash.

"You should date him!" Scarlet suggests, like that's not the craziest fucking thing ever uttered by a human. "He likes hobbits and music and reading stories, just like you!"

There are so many thoughts buzzing through Jimmy's head right now. The first one he voices is, "I don't think Mr. Plant likes me very much." Because _that's_ the problem here.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm late picking you up."

"That's not a very good reason," Scarlet says.

"Yeah, well, sometimes grown-ups don't make a lot of sense." The fact that Jimmy's actually having this conversation is proof positive.

"What if Mr. Plant liked you?"

"I don't—I don't think that's gonna happen, honey."

"But what if he did though?"

Jimmy sighs. He's got no idea what's going on in this kid's head sometimes.

The idea of dating a guy doesn't bother him. He's never really understood the big deal about homosexuality. So what if two people of the same sex want to fuck each other? As long as it's consensual, he couldn't care less. Then again, Jimmy cares very little about things outside of his immediate circle of family and acquaintances, so maybe that's just his general malaise talking.

Jimmy tries to picture himself with a man, but he can't really see himself with anyone, male or female, since Charlotte's death, as though a vital, imaginative part of his brain was jarred in the accident and never set properly. Apparently this is one of those situations where he'll just have to see what happens.

But Mr. Plant _is_ kind of attractive in a weird way and—Jesus, is he actually considering this? If Jonesy had suggested this, Jimmy would have thrown him through a window. But because it's Scarlet's innocent suggestion, somehow it doesn't seem so awful.

"If he did... _maybe_ I would—consider it..." Jimmy grits out. Of all the ridiculous things he's done for his daughter, this one takes the cake. "Maybe."

"You're not gonna be mad at Uncle Jonesy anymore, are you?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "Everything's fine."

There's a good possibility Scarlet might try to hook Jimmy up with her teacher. This is _so_ not what Jimmy signed up for today.

* * *

Jimmy comes to in the dark, his brain flickering like a loose bulb. A quiet, constant beeping sounds at his right. There's a faint throb of pain throughout him, but it feels far away somehow. Disjointed images flash in his head. He remembers the screech of metal, the snap of bone, the blood covering Charlotte's face...

Charlotte. Where the hell is Charlotte?

Jimmy blinks through the shower-curtain haze of his vision and figures out pretty quickly that he's in a hospital room. His left arm is wrapped in a sturdy plaster cast. On his right is a drip bag and an IV pump, the tube snaking down to his free arm. That explains the dull pain inside him. He wonders what they're numbing him with. Morphine, probably.

His mother's sitting in a chair beside him, her eyes closed as if she's sleeping. Her makeup does little to disguise her anguish.

It takes Jimmy a second or two to find his voice. His tongue feels dry-caked to the bottom of his mouth. "Mum?"

Immediately, her eyes pop open, and she leaps from her chair as if fuel propelled. "Oh, Jimmy!" Mum wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. He can feel the dampness of her tears and the lacquer of her lipstick against his skin. "You're finally awake!"

Jimmy breathes in the familiar scent of her perfume. His eyes fill with tears. "Where's Dad?"

"He stepped out just a moment ago. He'll be back." Mum steps away and releases him, though Jimmy senses some reluctance there. "He's going to be thrilled to see you're awake. The last twelve days have been a nightmare."

Her words slice through the haze in his brain like a reaper's scythe. "Twelve days? I've been in the hospital for twelve days?"

Mum nods.

Jimmy turns that over in his head. Twelve days. Almost two weeks of his life just... gone. "Where's Scarlet?"

"She's with Charlotte's parents. She's fine."

"And Charlotte? Where is she? She was in the car with me. Did she—" Jimmy's throat closes up, because he knows what's coming, and there's no way to duck the blow.

Mum looks agonized, wipes the steady stream of tears from her cheeks. "She didn't make it, honey. I'm so sorry."

Jimmy feels the earth drop out from under him. His beautiful Charlotte. Dead. The words almost don't reach him. He shakes his head, as if he can shake away what he's just heard. He flashes back to the night he proposed. He can see the way she admired the ring, how she smiled at him with misty eyes and threw her arms around him.

And now Charlotte is dead. He'll never see her walk down the aisle in a beautiful white dress. Scarlet will never grow up knowing her mother's love.

Grief spreads over him, and Jimmy weeps.

When he wakes up for real, his pillow is already wet.

* * *

It's always sunny when Jimmy visits the cemetery. That's the one part he's never understood. He doesn't know if some subconscious part of his brain forces him to offset the militantly perfect blue sky with something gloomy, or if the weather just decides to mock him, but there it is. A wonderful day to decay.

He stands in front of Charlotte's grave, five years to the day of her death, and lets the sun warm his face. What a goddamn shame Charlotte will never again feel the warmth of the sun or even the pitter-patter of raindrops on her skin.

Scarlet squeezes Jimmy's hand and sets the bouquet of flowers on the gravesite. Jimmy just stares at the headstone, the hole in his chest expanding. As much as he hates to admit it, Charlotte's memory is slowly slipping away from him. He can barely remember the feel of her lips against his own, the bells of her laughter, the silky texture of her hair. Even the memory of her face is eroding over time. If it weren't for the echoes of her in his own daughter, it would be as if Charlotte never existed.

So Jimmy forces himself to come here and hurt, to tear memories out of his head like matches and set himself on fire. Because letting those scars heal feels obscene.

Jimmy blinks away the clouds in his eyes. He wonders if it had been a sunny day when Charlotte was buried. Jimmy never got to attend the funeral, instead lying unconscious in the hospital. Outrage flickers in his veins. It should be him rotting six feet underground, not his beautiful, vivacious Charlotte.

Scarlet's voice breaks through Jimmy's reverie: "Is that Mr. Plant?"

Jimmy looks up. In the distance, almost too far ahead, stands a tall figure boasting some pretty impressive blond curls. It could be Mr. Plant, but what are the odds they'd both be here at the same time?

Jimmy keeps his eye on the blond figure for a while until it turns away and, yep, it's Mr. Plant. Is it weird that Jimmy recognizes him from this far away, yet he can barely recall Charlotte's face?

Scarlet tugs at Jimmy's hand, trying to pull him forward. "We should say hi!"

Jimmy crouches down to her level. "No, sweetheart. It's not polite to bother people here."

"How come?"

Scarlet seems immune to grasping the concept of awkwardness, so Jimmy goes with, "It's just a rule. You know, like how you have to be quiet in a library or a church."

Scarlet nods, does a frowny thing that reminds Jimmy of Charlotte. Jimmy glances in the direction Mr. Plant was heading. He's gone, of course, vanished like a damn ghost in the wind.

 _Interesting_ , he thinks, _a fellow sufferer_.

Jimmy turns around and heads back to the car.

* * *

On the five-year anniversary of Charlotte's death, Jimmy's sitting at the restaurant bar, nursing his third shot of Jack and cursing himself for agreeing to this travesty. Pamela, the buxom redhead Mo and Jonesy pushed his way, says, "Your daughter is so precious."

Jimmy nods, glancing over Pamela's shoulder at Scarlet, who's sitting at the table with Jonesy and the girls. "She is."

After dinner, Jonesy encouraged Jimmy and Pamela to get to know each other over a few drinks at the bar. Jimmy was less than enthusiastic about the idea, but he didn't want to come off like a total asshole, so he agreed to a short conversation.

That was ten minutes ago.

"It must be so hard to raise her all by yourself," Pamela says. It would be impossible for her chest to stick any further in his face without poking an eye with a nipple.

Jimmy sort of shrugs, takes a swallow of Jack. "I do alright. I got extraordinarily lucky with Scarlet; she's not as restless as I was expecting. She doesn't need constant attention. You could put a book or a puzzle in front of her and she wouldn't quit 'til it's finished. Her concentration is pretty amazing."

"Obviously you're doing something right." Pamela traces the rim of her glass with a finger. Her ruby-red nail polish gleams under the lights. She stares into her drink, hesitating for a moment. "John tells me you're a widower."

The words hit Jimmy like a wet slap. He actually flinches a bit. Clearly, Jonesy didn't tell her today is the anniversary of Charlotte's death, or even not to bring the subject up in the first damn place. Jimmy manages a stiff nod and finishes the rest of his drink.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Pamela says, like she really gives a damn. She never knew Charlotte. She doesn't know how vibrant and full of life Charlotte was, how her smile made you want to smile too. All Pamela sees is a well-to-do, attractive—because, hey, it matters—ex-rock star raising his little girl alone. Jimmy couldn't be more enticing to a single woman if he tried.

And that's what Jimmy's learned over the last five years: these women see him as some sort of wounded bird they can swoop in and patch up, absorbing his sadness into their hearts. They are vampires who feed on the blood of grief. But they can't fix him. The grief is his constant companion. This pain will be permanent.

 _All the king's horses and all the king's men_...

"Yeah, me too," Jimmy says quietly. His insides feel like they've been scooped out. All he wants is to go home and let the weakness crush him.

He signals the bartender for another shot and swallows it down once the glass is refilled. Jimmy used to drink for fun. In his Yardbirds days, he'd been in bars like this all over London and the States, looking to get drunk and hook up. Now, though, he drinks for the numbness.

Pamela drops her gaze to her drink again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Fucking duh.

She lifts her eyes to him. "What's your sign, then?"

 _Not interested_. But Jimmy decides to play along. "Capricorn."

She smiles, devilish red lips over pearly white teeth. "Of course you are. I'm a Libra. We're very passionate, intelligent people."

"And very rarely at a loss for words."

"You're into astrology?"

He was mostly being a smart-ass, but he rolls with it. "I went to art college. It's almost a requirement to read up on mysticism and things like that."

"So you're an artist too?"

"I wouldn't say that. At least, not in the visual sense."

"Well, what did you major in?"

"Painting. It's a moot point anyway, because I never graduated. I quit to join the Yardbirds."

"Were you any good?"

"I painted my Telecaster," Jimmy says with a shrug. "I've still got it at home, actually."

Pamela plays with her hair. "I'd love to see it sometime."

 _I'm sure you would, sweetie_ , Jimmy thinks wryly.

He sighs and forces up a polite smile. "Look, Miss Pamela... I don't know what John told you, but I'm not interested in dating anyone right now. Please, don't take it personally. I'm sure you're a lovely girl."

Pamela watches him, nods in understanding, but Jimmy can see the disappointment in her eyes. Her posture's a bit slumped, as if her whole body's taken a hit. "I understand. Dating's overrated anyway," she says, finishing off her drink. "Why not just see what happens?"

Jimmy tries not to make a face, but the Yardbirds experience really opened his eyes to the reality that women can be just as pushy as men when it comes to the rocky terrain of sexual encounters. "Like I said, you're a lovely girl." He drops a couple bills onto the counter and slides off of the barstool. "I'm sure you can find someone."

Okay, maybe he's not a total asshole, but he comes pretty close.


	3. Chapter 3

It's raining on Monday, which effectually spoils Robert's plans of reading to the kids out in the field behind the school. But he makes the best of it, even if they have to stay indoors, because Robert gets to doodle some visual aids on the chalkboard, even if most of the five-year-olds in his class have superior art skills. The only things he can draw are balloons, and there are no balloons in Welsh legends. Robert thinks there totally should be though.

It's nearing the end of the day when Robert says, "I think we've got time for one more story." Most of the kids look like they're paying attention, so Robert wipes the chalkboard clear and starts drawing again. "This is one of my son's favorite stories. Actually, it's where he got his name. Caractacus was a very brave Welsh general"—Robert does his best to illustrate, but the most he can do is a stick figure with a fancy hat—"who led the British against Rome a very, very long time ago."

For some reason, it's easier for Robert to talk about Karac amongst the children because they don't know the truth. They're not sitting there on their mats judging him or shaking their heads in pity. For all they know, Karac's still alive.

Robert scribbles another drawing on the board. "When Caractacus was captured and brought to Rome, the emperor was so impressed with his courage that he spared his life. So, in effect, I gave my son the name of a Celtic warrior."

"How old is he?" Scarlet pipes up.

"He's about your age."

Another student asks, "How come he doesn't go here?"

Robert feels his throat constrict. "He lives with his mum very far away." Lying to children. What'll he do for an encore, kick a puppy?

It's not like Robert _enjoys_ lying to his students. But it lets him escape reality for a little while and pretend that Karac is still alive, as though the last few months were just a disturbing nightmare. Every morning when Robert wakes up there's a split-second of peace. And then it all comes back.

All he's doing here is just... prolonging that peaceful moment. Nothing wrong with it. He knows the truth, of course, but where's the harm in pretending? Children play pretend all the time, and they seem like they're happier for it.

After class, most of the parents are already there, ushering their offspring to the car after the customary greetings and farewells. Scarlet's still waiting for her father—because of fucking course she is—but there's a few other kids waiting for their parents as well, and it's not like anyone's really running late.

Robert sits on a low bookshelf and gives himself a moment to decompress. He knows the pain is coming. Remembering Karac will cost him, especially if he can't throw that wall of numbness back up to protect himself. The aching starts around the edges of the hole in his chest.

As if sensing his distress, Scarlet toddles up to him. "Mr. Plant, will you go out with my daddy?"

Robert's got no idea what to make of that. "Go where, dear?"

"On a date."

Robert feels like he's been kicked in the chest, but it's a good sort of feeling, like the plunge from a great height. "Oh? Does—does your daddy want to go on a date with me?" Just saying it out loud sounds ten different kinds of bizarre. Because there's no goddamn way...

Scarlet sways from side to side, her hands clasped behind her back. "He said he'd say yes if you asked him."

Robert blinks in stunned surprise. No, no, he's not going to get his hopes up. Kids are very prone to misunderstandings and misinterpretations. Maybe she overheard her father talking about something—or someone—else. Jimmy's probably not interested in men, because he's got a five-year-old daughter, which means at some point in his life he had sex with a woman.

Then again, Robert did too, and he's thirsting for Jimmy. So that proves nothing. Robert's got a hell of a past; maybe Jimmy does too. People are never the sum total of what you see.

Robert pushes a hand through his hair. "Did he? Is your daddy very shy?" The idea of that dark, tall, handsome motherfucker being in any way shy just does not compute, especially when his daughter is so outgoing. But that could be a trait she inherited from her mother.

Scarlet shrugs. "I don't know." Typical five-year-old answer.

"I would be more than happy to go on a date with your daddy, but I think he should ask me first."

Scarlet nods, clearly giving that some thought, then she says, "Why doesn't your son live with you?"

"Because his mum lives somewhere else."

"Why?"

Robert searches for an explanation that will satisfy her curiosity. "His mum and I decided not to live together anymore." Could that be why her mother's no longer around?

"Why?"

"Well, sometimes Mummies and Daddies don't get along as well as they used to, and they don't want to live together. It doesn't mean they don't still love each other. Karac stays with his mum during the week, then on Saturday and Sunday he stays with me."

"Oh," Scarlet says like she understands. Who knows? Maybe she does. "Can I meet him sometime?"

Robert gives her a pained smile. "Maybe."

A velvet voice sounds from the doorway. "How many do you have?"

"Daddy!" Scarlet rushes toward the voice and throws her arms around Jimmy's legs.

Jimmy's standing there, damp with rain. His dark hair shines from the water, long strands of black fringe plastered to his face. His shirt—his _white_ shirt—clings to his body, and Robert can see the definition of Jimmy's chest and abs through the thin material. A few drops of water thread their way down Jimmy's throat and the side of his face, and Robert doesn't even know what the fuck to do with himself.

He manages to say, "What's that, now?" before his brain shuts down entirely.

"You're too good at this not to be a dad," Jimmy explains, moving closer the best he can with Scarlet still attached to his legs. "How many do you have?"

Robert wills his voice not to shake when he says, "Just one." Lies upon lies upon lies. But Jimmy's a rare breed—an adult who doesn't look at him with pity—so Robert's going to milk this lie for all it's worth. He changes the subject before Jimmy can catch the false truth. "I see you're on time today."

Jimmy's mouth does a half-smirk that makes Robert's heart skip a beat or two. "Take a photo. It doesn't happen very often."

Charming bastard. Robert stands up and says, "What a shame. I left my camera at home."

Scarlet tugs at the leg of Jimmy's jeans to get his attention. "Daddy, Mr. Plant should have dinner with us tonight!"

Robert opens his mouth to say something—what, exactly, he's not sure—but Jimmy bends down and tells her, "That's very sweet of you to offer, but I'm sure he has other plans."

Jimmy glances up at him. Their eyes meet, and in that short second Robert feels an overwhelming surge of affection for this beautiful man. The selfless part of him wants to accept the offer for Scarlet's sake. But the selfish part of him doesn't want to close this door, not yet. Robert needs a distraction. Shutting Jimmy out means going back to his regular life, the ocean of pain that threatens to drown him. The thought of returning to that scares the shit out of him.

"Actually," Robert starts after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't... If it's alright with you, of course. I wouldn't want to intrude."

There's a too-long moment of contemplation that sends Robert's blood pumping hurriedly through his veins. This is a bad idea. Clearly, Jimmy wants nothing to do with him, and Scarlet had been mistaken about the whole dating thing, and—

When Jimmy says, "It's no intrusion at all. We'd love to have you," Robert's heart nearly bursts out of his chest.

* * *

Jimmy quickly realizes that inviting Robert over was a horrible idea, because the fridge and cabinets are pretty much barren. He doesn't have time to go to the store _and_ cook. Fuck. It's not like they don't have any actual food—Scarlet never complains on nights where it's grilled cheese sandwiches or nothing, but Jimmy thinks serving that might give Robert a poor impression of his parenting skills.

Jimmy picks up the phone and dials the neighbors. When Jonesy answers, Jimmy says, "Hey, could you put Mo on, please?"

Jonesy's frown is nearly audible. "You don't want to talk to me? I'm hurt."

"You know any recipes?"

"No."

"Then put your damn wife on," Jimmy laughs.

Jonesy grumbles something under his breath, and after a moment or two, Mo's voice sounds on the other end of the line. "Jim, are you making dinner?"

"Well, I'm hoping to. But I don't have a lot of choices."

"You can't just toast up a cheese sandwich like you usually do?"

God, he's embarrassed for himself. "Not exactly. I'm having company, and if I did that I think my fitness as a father might be judged unfairly."

"You're having company?" she says with a gasp. Then she lowers the phone and calls out, "John, Jim's having company!"

Shit like this is exactly why Jimmy doesn't tell anyone anything. It's not like he can blame her though. Jimmy hasn't entertained or had guests—in the typical, come-over-for-tea sense—in five years. Sure, Jonesy and Mo drop by occasionally, but they don't count. So, yeah, he understands why Mo's freaking out, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Oh, Jim, we're so proud of you!" Mo gushes into the phone. "This is such a big step—"

"Can we focus, please?"

"Right, recipes. What have you got? Beef, chicken?"

"If I had meat, do you really think we'd be having this conversation?"

"Oh dear," Mo murmurs. After a moment, she says, "How much time do you have?"

Jimmy checks the clock. "About an hour and a half, maybe."

"Hold on a tic."

Jimmy waits, leans against the counter like Sinatra against a lamp post. He twirls the phone cord around his index finger. He can hear faint voices on the other end of the line, but he can't make out what they're saying. It's probably just Mo raving about how Jimmy's finally met someone and how she's so proud he's breaking out of his hermit-like shell and meeting people and isn't it wonderful that Scarlet might have a woman 'round the house to braid her hair and talk to her about boys—

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. God, he really hopes that's not Robert. Jimmy hangs up the phone and goes to answer.

Mo's standing on the other side of the door, carrying a shopping bag that looks like it might contain a bowling ball. "You sounded like you needed a bit more help than just me dictating a recipe over the phone."

Jimmy laughs to himself, glances at the bag. "You came prepared, I see."

"Of course. You want to make a good impression, don't you?"

Jimmy makes a dismissive noise and lets her inside. "Maybe I don't particularly care."

"Oh, rubbish," Mo scoffs. "You haven't had a guest in years, then when you do, you call me for advice on what to serve. You wouldn't have invited this woman over for dinner if you didn't care about her."

Jimmy chuckles. "I hate to break this to you, but—"

"Hi, Aunt Mo!" Scarlet interrupts once they move into the kitchen. She's sitting at the table already, playing with a toy train.

Mo smiles and moves over to her. "Scarlet, is your daddy having a special lady over for dinner?"

Scarlet giggles. "No, just Mr. Plant from school."

Mo turns to fix Jimmy with a curious look. "Oh really?"

"We got off to a"—Jimmy searches for the word—"unpleasant start. I invited him as a means of showcasing that I'm not neglectful of Scarlet, and that she's happy and well-adjusted." Because this is _so_ not a date. It's not, it's _not_. Even if Robert's kind of attractive.

But the thought that Jimmy might have any non-platonic interest in Robert doesn't even cross Mo's mind. This is Jimmy's first houseguest in years; of course he'd start simple and choose someone non-threatening before working his way up to entertaining a date.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Mo says. "And a touch manipulative. John's always said you would've made a great evil genius."

Jimmy smiles, proud of himself. "What did you bring?" he asks, gesturing with his chin to the bag she's holding.

She sets the bag on the countertop, and Jimmy peers inside at the ingredients. "I thought we'd make chicken and dumplings. And bread pudding for dessert."

Jimmy's eyes go wide. "You're going to teach me your famous bread pudding recipe?" Jonesy doesn't even know Mo's delicious secret recipe.

"You can't tell him about the secret ingredient. He's been trying to learn for years."

"My lips are sealed. It's about time I had a secret to hang over him."

Mo deems Jimmy capable of cutting up the bread while she gets to work browning the chicken. As Jimmy's arranging the bread cubes in the baking dish, Mo asks, "So why does this Mr. Plant think you're an unfit parent?"

"I was late picking Scarlet up from school for a few days. I suppose that gave him a rather negative impression of me." Jimmy sighs. "I can't blame him for thinking that way. But maybe I'm trying to convince myself moreso than him..."

Mo shakes her head. "Don't. I can't imagine how difficult it must be, raising a child all on your own. I don't know what I'd do without John. But you're doing a great job."

Jimmy isn't sure about that, but he doesn't argue.

While the bread's cooking, Jimmy helps chop and cook the carrots, celery, and onions for the chicken. The secret ingredient in Mo's bread pudding, Jimmy learns, is a sauce consisting of sugar, cream, butter, and Jack Daniels drizzled on top of the finished dish. "It's like you made this specifically for me," Jimmy marvels at the recipe.

"I know how to keep my boys happy."

Jimmy doesn't know how to feel about being included there. "I don't think I've ever really thanked you for all your help the last few years."

Mo gives him a dismissive handwave. "Don't worry your head over it. We don't mind a bit."

After dinner's finished cooking, it's about time for Robert to arrive. Jimmy casts a nervous glance at the clock while they're cleaning up. "This is going to sound terribly rude," Jimmy starts, "but I don't think you should be here when he arrives."

"I want to meet him," Mo says with a frown.

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. "I know, but—if he sees I brought someone in to help me with the simple task of making dinner..."

Mo lays a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. Jimmy sort of wilts beneath the touch. "Why does his opinion matter so much? Goodness, in the eyes of the neighborhood mums, I'm certainly not winning any Mother of the Year awards, what with working so often."

"That's different. You've got Jonesy. And, honestly, don't you think there's a little envy there in all that talk? They're probably just jealous you've got Jonesy so thoroughly whipped."

Mo chuckles. "Maybe. But who cares if this guy thinks you're a bad father? Scarlet loves you."

"And I can't lose her too," Jimmy says, his throat going tight. Mo's brow creases, like she suddenly gets why Jimmy can't afford to appear negligent.

She opens her mouth to say something, probably reassuring, when a knock sounds on the door.

* * *

Robert's not sure what he's expecting when he arrives at Jimmy's house. It's certainly a nice-looking home in a nicer-looking neighborhood—tree-lined streets, Victorian-style homes, neatly-trimmed hedges, fancy wrought-iron gates. Jimmy's house, a stately and distinguished brick-sided duplex, boasts an arched doorway and an inviting front lawn. Brilliant green ivy is in full bloom, climbing up the sides and the front of the house like spiderwebs. There's a car parked in the driveway; Robert figures it must be Jimmy's. Sherlock Plant: Detective for Hire.

He knocks on the door, admires the stone doorway and the ornate door knocker. It doesn't look like an extravagant rock star's house on the outside, but Robert's withholding judgement until he sees the inside.

Jimmy opens the door, and, wow, he's actually breathtaking. His hair's a little messy, as though he just stepped out of a light wind, his cheeks slightly pinked. He's wearing faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved white t-shirt that does nothing to hide the long, lean shape of his body. "Robert, it's so good to see you! Come in, please."

Robert's not going to last the night if Jimmy keeps calling him by his first name like they're friends. He steps inside, and Scarlet's voice calls out, "Hi, Mr. Plant!" She's leaning over the top of the couch in the family room, waving at him.

Robert smiles and moves over to her. "Hello, dear. How are you?"

"Good. Daddy made dinner!"

"Oh?"

A female voice says, "So, you must be the elusive Mr. Plant."

Robert stands up, turns in the direction of the voice. "You've heard of me?"

The woman chuckles. "Scarlet's told me all about you." She smiles and extends a hand. "I'm Mo; I live next door. I just stopped by to borrow some sugar." She's cradling a half-empty bag of sugar under her other arm. "So I'll be going now. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"You too."

"Bye, Scarlet!" Mo says, heading for the door. "I'll see you later, Jimmy?"

"Absolutely. Thank you." Jimmy smiles at her, warm and appreciative. Robert gapes, because Jimmy looks even more breathtaking when he smiles. For a moment, everything else in the room fades into the background. Robert swallows thickly, trying to memorize the way Jimmy's luscious lips curve into a smile.

Then it's all back to normal. Mo leaves, and Jimmy turns to Robert, his smile now more of a wince, like he's waiting to be slapped. "Won't you sit down?"

There's three chairs at the kitchen table, two matching, padded four-legged chairs, and one that looks out of place, as though it's been moved from another room in the house. Robert figures that's supposed to be his and takes his seat.

Judging by the seating, Robert surmises Jimmy doesn't entertain very often. The only reason he's got two chairs at home himself is because they came as a pair.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" Robert asks as Jimmy starts doling out the food in the kitchen.

"Please, you're the guest. Enjoy yourself."

Robert toys with the silverware set on the table. It's been ages since he's done this. He has dinner with Bonzo's family often enough that it's no longer an occasion. When he was married, Maureen would sometimes take him to her parents' house and her sister's. But almost all of his dinner invitations had been from family. This is... This is different.

Scarlet drags one of the chairs around the table so it's next to Robert, climbs into it and asks, "Can I sit with you?"

"Of course."

"Would you care for some tea, Robert?" Jimmy asks.

"Water is fine." He doesn't need to stay up any longer than he needs to. That's a road that goes nowhere good. And it would probably look bad if he asked for booze to calm his nerves.

Jimmy hands out the drinks: water for Robert, orange juice for Scarlet. He heads back to the kitchen, fills a glass with ice and asks, "How long have you been teaching?"

"About five years now." Since Karac was born... Robert shakes off the thought. "My sister-in-law had a friend who worked at the school. She helped me get the job."

"You don't really look like the teaching type," Jimmy says, snapping open a soda can. He pours until the glass is half full. "Especially for such young children."

"That's why she had to help me." Robert chuckles self-consciously. "I didn't exactly inspire confidence."

"Good thing you got the job. Scarlet adores you."

"Daddy," Scarlet whines, like she just _cannot_ believe her father's talking about this in front of her.

Jimmy laughs to himself, and Robert loves the sound of it.

Scarlet folds her arms over her chest and looks at Robert. "Daddy always does that."

"He embarrasses you?"

"Uh-huh."

Out of the corner of his eye, Robert spots Jimmy pouring Jack Daniels into his glass in a surreptitious way. Sneaky son of a bitch. Is he an alcoholic, or is he drinking his nerves away? And, if it's the latter, why would Jimmy be nervous?

Curious and curiouser.

Robert doesn't have much time to think about that, because Jimmy sets two heaping plates in front of them before serving himself. He stares at Robert's hands for the briefest of moments, then sits across from Robert and Scarlet. "I only embarrass you because I love you, sweetheart," Jimmy says to her. "It's what daddies do. I'm sure you're going to return the favor tonight, and I'll know why."

Scarlet smiles in triumph and starts to eat.

Robert's intrigued by the relationship between these two. Scarlet certainly comes across as a genuine Daddy's Girl, and Jimmy appears every bit the loving, doting father Robert used to be, should _still_ be, that it makes his heart ache.

He is surprised, though, at how good of a cook Jimmy is. "This is amazing," Robert raves over dinner. "I didn't know you could cook."

"Aunt Mo helped," Scarlet cuts in.

Jimmy gives her a warm smile. "She just brought over some of the ingredients, sweet pea." He casts his gaze back to Robert. "I'm glad you like it. It's been a while since I've had to cook for someone besides Scarlet."

Robert's not sure if he should poke at this or not, but Jimmy dropped the conversational nugget first, so he's going with it. "You don't have company?"

Jimmy's mouth twitches, as if he realizes he's said too much. "The two chairs didn't tip you off?" He smirks, playing it off like a joke. "Besides, Mo's more of the entertaining type anyway."

"So it's just the two of you, then?"

Jimmy nods. "Mo and her husband drop by occasionally."

So Mo's a married woman, which means Jimmy probably isn't pursuing her. Robert files that away for later.

"How about you?" Jimmy asks. "You mentioned a sister-in-law, but I don't see a ring on your finger."

And he's perceptive too. "My wife and I recently separated," Robert admits before shoving a forkful of chicken and dumplings into his mouth to shut himself up. He doesn't want to reveal too much here, doesn't want to come off as too depressing.

Jimmy frowns, his face scrunched and helpless. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was about as amicable as you could hope for." Mr. Optimistic. "And I'm happy now." Mr. Optimistic is now Mr. Lying-Out-His-Ass.

Jimmy gives him a dubious look but doesn't push the subject.

Robert scrambles for a polite way to phrase his next question and comes up short. He decides to just dive in head-first and deal with the repercussions later. "How long have you been raising Scarlet?" He doesn't have to say the "on your own" part of that sentence, because Jimmy hears it loud and clear.

"About as long as you've been teaching."

Almost the girl's whole life. Robert keeps the shock off of his face. "So you're the one who taught her how to read?"

Jimmy nods, the faint trace of pride at the corner of his mouth. "That was me."

"Very impressive. Most of my students can't read at her level. Have you ever considered... advancing her to the next grade?"

"No, I—I haven't. In the end, I suppose it would be her decision, but I wouldn't want her to feel out of place." Jimmy looks at his daughter. "Scarlet, would you like to move up to first grade?"

She shakes her head. "I wanna stay with Mr. Plant!"

Jimmy chuckles. "Well, there's your answer."

Robert can't help but smile. "Did you teach her to draw too?"

"Maybe a little bit," Jimmy says, trying to sound modest, but Robert hears a modicum of smugness in his voice. Or maybe it's the way his lips fight a smirk.

"She's very talented."

"Thank you," Scarlet giggles.

Scarlet dominates the dinner conversation after that, gushing about various things Robert's done in class, and occasionally telling stories about Jimmy that make his cheeks flush pink. He tries to stop her, but she's determined to fulfill his prediction that she'd embarrass him. Robert does his best not to make it obvious that he's enjoying this, because Jimmy's adorable when he's mortified.

Scarlet starts yawning towards the end of the meal—probably falling into a sugar coma from that delicious dessert—so afterwards Jimmy hauls her into his arms and moves for the stairs.

"I—I should probably go," Robert says.

Jimmy's dark hair sways when he whirls to look at Robert. "Wha—no, I mean—unless you want to, of course. But you're more than welcome to stay for a bit. Let me get Scarlet to bed and I'll be right down."

Robert's not going to argue if it means sticking around and getting to look at Jimmy. "Sure."

Jimmy disappears up the staircase, and Robert decides it's time to snoop. The family room has embraced the colors of the decade, boasting checkered yellow wallpaper and orange shag carpeting. Jimmy's taste in art and décor is... unique, to say the least. A few paintings hang on the walls, depicting various landscapes and oceanic vistas.

On top of the fireplace mantel are framed photographs and small stacks of books. Robert finds himself drawn there, eager to see the stories in Jimmy's head, the memories captured and framed. The first photograph is of Scarlet, of course, smiling wide and wearing a poofy pink dress. The next picture is a sun-faded shot of a much younger Jimmy holding baby Scarlet. His smile is unsure and full of hope, as if he's just realized the enormity of fatherhood.

Robert's eyes grow moist, familiar feelings of paternal warmth knocking him back. It's the little things that remind him of Karac.

A more recent shot of Jimmy and Scarlet sits on the mantel; even in photographs, Jimmy's still got that suffering vibe about him. Robert wonders about the cause of his pain. He didn't see a ring on Jimmy's finger, doesn't see a single photograph of the woman who gave Jimmy a daughter. Could Scarlet's mother have run out on them?

Robert can't imagine how someone could leave an adorable baby girl and a man as gorgeous as Jimmy, but it explains why there aren't any pictures of this mystery woman. If she had died—God forbid—why would Jimmy want to shut away the memory of her face, of her goodness?

The books on the mantel are unfamiliar, some titles not even in English. Many of the texts involve mysticism and spirituality. Robert doesn't know what to make of that.

There's a set of bookshelves built into a nearby wall that now hold record albums. Robert scans their spines to see if Jimmy's music tastes match up with his own. He finds a horde of old blues records, plenty of discs by British rock groups such as The Who, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, American music from Elvis Presley, James Brown, and Joni Mitchell. His interests seem pretty varied, as if he appreciates all kinds of music instead of limiting himself to only one genre. Though, being a musician, that's probably a given.

Now that Robert thinks about it, a lot of the décor reminds him of Graceland, Elvis Presley's elaborate Memphis mansion. Robert's never been there himself, but he's seen pictures of the interior, and, man, do rock stars have the same eccentric taste or what?

To the left of the kitchen lies what might have been intended as a dining room, but instead it holds a baby grand piano near the window, a fainting couch, and built-in bookshelves housing various trinkets and ceramics. Yes, Robert's absolutely going to play that piano. It's a compulsion, really.

He sits on the bench and plucks out a few notes that evolve into a soft, luxuriant melody. He tries not to remember how Karac had been alive the last time he played piano, tries not to think about how he'd pull his son alongside him on the bench and encourage the boy to play along.

Even after months of dormancy, the tune comes to him easily enough, and he's lost in the music and the memories of happier days. One song flows into another, then another, and Robert doesn't stop until someone clears their throat in the entryway.

"I should have known you were musical," Jimmy says with an amused half-smile.

Robert's hands pause over the keys. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—well, it was just _there_."

"You're quite good."

"You think so?"

Jimmy just gives him a questioning look that Robert feels _everywhere_.

"I take it that's a stupid question, then." Robert wipes his palms on his jeans and stands up. He follows Jimmy into the kitchen, where Jimmy's mixing up another Jack and Coke.

"Care for a drink?" Jimmy offers.

"No, thank you." Robert's probably already going to do or say something humiliating while completely sober; the last thing he needs is alcohol.

"Mmm, suit yourself." Jimmy takes his drink over to the couch in the family room and sits down. Robert awkwardly follows suit, unsure what to do here. "How long have you played piano?"

"Only a couple years," Robert says with a shrug. "I don't plan on doing anything with it. It's just a neat party trick." He chuckles to himself, feeling like a doofus.

Jimmy takes a sip. "You must be the life of the party then."

Is that a flirtation? Robert pushes a hand through his hair and glances away. "I don't know about that. 'Course, the last time I went to a party was"—he starts counting on his fingers for a moment before abandoning the effort altogether—"well, it's been a while."

"Not even one of those bore-fest teacher parties?"

"Of course, I'd fit right in there," Robert jokes and earns a laugh from Jimmy. The sound is angelic and wonderful, and he wants to hear it all the time.

Jimmy takes a long drink before he asks, "What would you do if you weren't a teacher?"

"It's kind of silly, but I'd love to just see the world. You know, be a nomad, travel from place to place and absorb everything I can."

"Really? Me too. Have you traveled at all?"

"My family used to go to Wales on holiday, but that was a long time ago. Other than that, I haven't really had the chance to go elsewhere."

Jimmy takes another drink. "I've been stateside, though it was mostly Los Angeles and New York."

"Right, you toured with the Yardbirds, didn't you?"

Jimmy nods slowly, like he's taken aback that Robert remembered. Or maybe he's wary Robert's going to gush and ask too many questions about his past.

"I've often daydreamed about becoming a musician," Robert admits. "Just a passing fancy, nothing serious, really. Did you enjoy it, being in a band?"

Jimmy takes another long swallow before answering. "There are things I would have done differently," he says in a weirdly solemn voice. "But the overall experience was worthwhile, I think."

Jimmy has a strange way of offering up answers yet also provoking more questions. Must have been a skill he honed for interview purposes.

Jimmy shrugs and does that half-smiling thing with his mouth. "How could anything be wholly bad if it led to the birth of my daughter?"

Robert wonders about Scarlet's mother, if she was some groupie who ran off to screw some bigger star after the baby was born. Poor Jimmy. Robert can't imagine how he would have felt if Maureen had left after Karac's birth.

"She's something special," Robert agrees.

Jimmy finishes his drink and stares at nothing in particular. "Best thing I ever did with my life."

Robert lets that one hang in the air for a bit before saying, "Is there a particular reason you invited me here?"

"Scarlet wanted me to."

"You could have said no."

Jimmy presses his lips together and glances away for a half-second. "I could have. But I thought it would be a good idea to build a positive relationship with her teacher." He stares at Robert speculatively, then he gives a soft huff of amusement. "Would you believe I actually worried what you'd think of me? I made sure everything was perfect, because I was so certain you'd come here and assume I wasn't a good father."

Robert cannot believe what he's hearing. "I must have made an awful first impression. I'm usually very approachable—or so I've been told."

"How many other parents are habitually late?"

"To be fair, there are far worse children than Scarlet I could be stuck with."

Jimmy's eyes do this adorable crinkly thing when he laughs. "That's a horrible thing to say."

"But it's true."

"So teachers do pick favorites. I knew I was being lied to."

"I take it you weren't anyone's favorite student?"

"Hardly," Jimmy says with a chuckle.

"We have that in common."

Jimmy gives him a curious look. " _You_ were a problem student?"

Robert laughs. "Oh yes. All my friends were musicians, and I used to accompany them to gigs night after night. So my grades suffered, and I had a habit of arriving late. I had to stay an extra year and retake my O-levels."

"I was not expecting any of that," Jimmy says, looking stunned.

"I'm full of surprises."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "Apparently so."

Robert feels his face heat up. "I was wrong about you, you know," he says, toying with the ends of his hair. "You're a great dad. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge." He holds his breath and waits for Jimmy's answer.

Jimmy's mouth is somewhere between amused and affectionate. It's kind of amazing he has facial expressions extending beyond brooding or completely emotionless. "Really? Even after this?" He rattles the ice cubes in his glass for emphasis.

Robert shrugs like it doesn't bother him. "We've all got our secrets."

"Even you?" Jimmy's still wearing that little smirk on his pouty lips; Robert wants to kiss it right off his face.

"Especially me."

"Sure. What's the worst thing you've ever done? Sent a kid to time-out?"

Robert's got a damn good story for that one, but the wound is still raw and he doubts it's appropriate first-date—is this even a date?—conversation. He picks something more germane and in line with Jimmy's interests. "I stole one of Sonny Boy Williamson's harmonicas."

Jimmy looks sort of startled, as though he never imagined Robert a) knew who Sonny Boy Williamson is, and b) would be capable of such a thing. "Are you—oh my God."

"I went to a gig at the Town Hall in Birmingham. He was on the bill, and I snuck backstage 'cause he was one of my idols, but he was kind of a tosser, so I took the harmonica out of his dressing room later that night."

Jimmy laughs an angel's laugh. "Would you believe I played a session with him once upon a time?"

"Seriously?"

"And you're right, he was a bit of a tosser. He drowned out my guitar solos with his harmonica."

"Then I suppose my petty thievery served as revenge on your behalf."

Jimmy laughs again, settles into the couch. He looks comfortable and content and absolutely perfect. "I wasn't expecting you to win this round. I'm an ex-rock star; bad behavior is supposed to be our forte."

"I hope that's not genetic," Robert teases, but Jimmy seems to consider it.

"She does seem to get her worst qualities from me..."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, they certainly don't come from her mother," Jimmy says, missing the point entirely.

Robert wets his lips. "No, I mean, that you could possibly have 'worst qualities.'"

"My, my. Butter that toast, Mr. Plant." Jimmy's very smirky tonight. It must be the booze.

Robert feels his face go hot, and he looks away. Is there even a microscopic possibility that Jimmy's flirting with him? Robert's first instinct is to immediately deny it, but if he looks at tonight's events through a different lens, it's not that unbelievable. If Jimmy were a woman, inviting Robert to dinner, encouraging him to stay past the actual dinner, throwing smirky glances at him, and prodding him with probing questions would definitely qualify as flirting.

And, yeah, Scarlet did say her father wanted to date him, but he's not putting too much stock in that alone. Kids can easily misinterpret things. But it makes Robert wonder.

Should he do something? He should probably do something, but what?

Robert realizes how close they're sitting, that somehow they've marginally moved closer and closer until their thighs are almost touching. Holy hell.

All of this internal debate takes about two seconds. Robert tucks one side of his hair behind his ear. "It's not flattery," he says. "It must be difficult to raise a child all by yourself. You're doing a wonderful job."

"Well, I haven't accidentally killed her yet, so I think I'm doing pretty well," Jimmy says with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Robert's just going to ignore the way his ribs feel like they're being crushed under Jimmy's words. "You love her, and that's the most important thing."

Jimmy drops the nonchalant act, looking at Robert like his approval means the world. "Yeah?"

They're so, so close now. If Robert just leans his head in a bit, he could...

He really, really wants to do that. Will Jimmy let him? Jimmy seems like he's been flirting with Robert all night. Maybe he's thinking the same things Robert is.

Robert decides to just go for it. He moves in and covers Jimmy's mouth with his own. He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he feels a hot flare against his cheek. Jimmy's rigid under the kiss for a second, then he's jerking away. He stares at Robert, incredulous, his expression and body language all but screaming "not fucking okay."

His reaction works like a vacuum, sucking all the air out of the room. Robert feels his stomach plummet. Mistake of the fucking century.

"What the hell was that?" Jimmy's eyes are hard and unforgiving. The look on his face is actually painful, like Robert broke something and Jimmy just can't deal with it.

Robert's heart sputters lamely behind his ribs, and he has no choice but to backpedal away from this. How the fuck did he screw this up? "I—I'm sorry, I thought—I shouldn't have—I thought you were..." Robert flails his hands in a particularly useless way, lets that mess of words trail off into the abyss. "I don't even know what I was thinking. It was stupid. I'm sorry."

Jimmy's turning away from him, staring straight ahead with his arms folded over his chest. "You should go."

"Right." Robert barely manages to get the word out, his throat locked up tight. He finds his footing on legs quaking as much as his voice. "Thank you for a lovely dinner."

Jimmy exhales in exasperation, like Robert's mere presence is distressing him. His knuckles have gone white, fingers gripped around his sleeves.

All the horrible repercussions of this moment of idiocy come rushing in. Forget embarrassment; Robert could be fucking _fired_ for this. And, of course, the other teachers would gasp and gossip amongst each other, murmuring inane theories about how Karac's death must have pushed Robert over the edge, how this is proof he'd gone back to work too soon.

He doesn't wait for Jimmy to say anything more, just sees himself out.

Some people engage in histrionics or violence, but Robert's chosen a quieter way of losing his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Jimmy spends the night wondering what the hell it all means. Robert kissed him. Robert fucking  _kissed_  him. Jimmy's got no idea what to do with that. He stares at the ceiling, tries to sort this out in his head.

If Jimmy's honest with himself, he's been teetering on the edge for a while now. Tossing out smirks and half-lidded smiles, coaxing opinions out of Robert like he genuinely cared about them, talking to fill the silence, trying to keep the conversation going. A small, quiet part of him wanted Robert to stay, wanted to kiss back. The very idea should repulse him. Jimmy doesn't think he's attracted to men, so what the fuck's going on here?

Is the loneliness finally creeping up on him? Could he want this because he misses Charlotte? That's the only reason that makes sense, but he's missed Charlotte for five years. Why now? Since Charlotte's death, Jimmy's first instinct has always been to shove away any longing or desire for companionship, reject any potential dates quickly and callously.

But he hadn't done that with Robert. He invited Robert into his home, crossed boundaries he's never crossed before. And why? For Scarlet, of course. Scarlet adores Robert, and Jimmy wanted to make a good impression, to atone for his earlier transgressions. He could put up with one evening and some stilted, uncomfortable conversation. But that's not the way it happened.

It was all new and different and painful, like using rusted-over parts of himself, but Jimmy didn't want it to end. He thought his own emotional handicaps would make Robert eager to leave, but Robert chose to stay and delve deeper anyway. Jimmy's used to people being interested in him on the surface, admiring his looks and envying his skill. He never lets anyone get close enough to learn he's too damaged to be worth it.

But Robert is nothing like the women Jimmy's kept away over the years. His eyes have a shattered look, the look of someone who's been punched in the stomach and doesn't know why. There's a strange sadness to his face, the same silenced grief and resignation Jimmy sees when he looks in the mirror.

Maybe that's why Jimmy let Robert get this far. A fellow sufferer. Someone who doesn't look at him with pity but understanding.

Jimmy knows what the rest of his life will be: a long string of lonely nights, cold and empty beds, giving his daughter unconditional love, and ignoring the gaping hole in their lives. Forever dodging queries of why Scarlet doesn't have a mother, maintaining that stoic façade, stomaching the way women fawn over him when they learn he's a single father.

Jimmy just... wants something more than that.

He wants someone to share his bed and his life with.

Someone like Robert?

Maybe. Maybe not. But Robert likes him enough to kiss him.

_Why not just see what happens?_

* * *

"I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life."

Bonzo laughs a hearty sound. "Bullshit, you've been embarrassed plenty."

They're in Bonzo's workshop the next morning while he's working underneath the body of a Rolls Royce. The building is no more than a couple old sheds bolted together with the interior walls knocked out, but what could have been an impersonal workshop has a touch of home to it. License plates from all over the world cover the walls—Bonzo's building up his United States collection.

Robert glares at him, but Bonzo can't see his face from underneath the car, so the gesture's wasted. "I might need to fake my own death," Robert says. "Do you still have connections with the Yard?"

Bonzo used to be a policeman until he caught a bullet in a robbery gone wrong. He claimed it was "just a scratch," but Pat wasn't having any of that, so he retired from the force for the sake of his family. Now he works out of the shed, repairing cars and motorcycles.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," Bonzo says with a laugh. "Just apologize the next time you see him. He'll understand, or at least pretend he does for the sake of his kid."

Robert pushes a hand through his hair. "Will you just get it over with?"

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Isn't this the part where you tell me I should have waited longer before I went back to work? Or how I shouldn't be thinking about dating or relationships yet?"

Bonzo scoffs an undignified sound. "Fuck that. You can only sit 'round the house so long before you start going mad. So you made a mistake. Not like you're the first person who's ever misinterpreted kindness for flirtation."

"What if it's all wishful thinking though? Some part of me desperately wanting to believe he could want me that way?"

"You actually like him?"

Robert wants to blurt out, "Have you  _seen_  him?" but doesn't want to sound superficial. Seriously, though, Jimmy's unfairly attractive, and Robert's losing sleep over it. "Well, yeah."

Bonzo barks a laugh. "The Ice Lolly King?"

"God, don't call him that."

"You started it," Bonzo reminds him, because Robert totally did. But in his defense, he was upset, so it doesn't count.

"It was a snap judgement, and I was wrong. I didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle. I still don't—I feel like he's hiding something—but I realize he's doing the best he can."

Bonzo slides out from under the car and fixes Robert with that "you're a moron" look. "So, if he's such a great guy, he won't kill you over a misunderstanding, right?"

"Yeah, but..." All of this would be so much easier if Jimmy were a woman. Not that Robert still wouldn't be embarrassed as fuck, but there are so many more layers of humiliation to sift through here, let alone the risk of being outed to his co-workers and fired from his job. "He's a guy."

"And all he did was ask you to leave. I don't think he's gonna destroy your life."

"But—"

"Robert." Bonzo looks at him like he's the most annoying thing in the entire world. "Just apologize." He stands up and wipes his oil-stained hands on a tattered rag. "Now, are you staying for breakfast or not?"

Robert doesn't want to impose, but he doesn't want to go back to that lonely, empty flat and think about his life either. "If you'll have me."

"Always, mate."

Over breakfast, Jason's a ball of sugar-high excitement. "Hey, Uncle Percy, guess what?"

"What?"

"Mum says I'm gonna have a baby brother or sister!"

"Jason," Pat gasps, looking horrified. She glances at Robert for a half-second before her gaze slides back to her son. "That was supposed to be a secret."

"Sorry, Mum," Jason says, sounding not at all sorry.

Pat's staring at Robert like he's a bomb with a fuse burning down. Bonzo just looks mildly remorseful about something.

"That's wonderful," Robert says. "How long have you known?"

"A couple weeks now," Pat admits, glancing away momentarily. "We only just told Jason."

It dawns on Robert that they kept this from him because of his situation. A guy with a deceased kid probably isn't gonna be too happy for a family welcoming their second child. But they should know Robert better than that. He hates being treated like he's fragile. Because despite his own personal tragedy, the world still spins on. People still meet and fuck and fall in love and have babies, and Robert can put aside his own bullshit to celebrate his friends' successes and joys right alongside them.

Robert tries to keep his voice steady. "Congratulations. I'm so happy for you both." And he is. Pat and Bonzo deserve all of the happiness in the world. "If you need anything—anything at all—just let me know."

After breakfast, when Robert's on his way out the door, Bonzo follows him and says, "I didn't want Pat to keep it secret from you. But she insisted. You know how she is."

Robert does. Bonzo doesn't shy away from difficult conversations. Pat, though her heart's in the right place, can be—to put it charitably—coddling. Sometimes Robert wonders if that's the reason why they work so well together: Pat's soft touch serves as a salve when Bonzo's tough love bruises.

"I'm not upset with you," Robert says, because he thinks that's why Bonzo's trying to save face here. "After a couple months, it would've been hard to keep a secret anyway."

Bonzo huffs a tired laugh. "Well, she would've found a way to tell you by then."

"Congratulations again." Robert smiles despite the way their familial happiness tears him apart. He turns and heads to his car.

* * *

Jimmy's so not looking forward to seeing Robert today, but let it be known he's willing to brave the uncharted levels of awkwardness for the sake of his daughter. He deserves a Father of the Year award for this, that's for damn sure.

Scarlet rushes toward Jimmy when he steps into the classroom, like he's a recently-released POW. Robert's pulled back the enthusiasm today, flashing Jimmy an uneasy smile.

Jimmy decides to speak first and put this poor man out of his misery. "About last night... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

Robert's shaking his head, his gold curls swaying. "No, no, it was my fault. I should have asked if you were—I misread things, I'm sorry."

Jimmy wills his voice not to betray him when he says, "No, you didn't."

Robert blinks, his eyes going wide. His brow creases in confusion, like he can't make sense of the words.

"It's just... It's been a very long time since I've done anything like this," Jimmy explains, watching the blood pool beneath Robert's cheeks. "But I think it's time for me to try."

Robert opens his mouth, closes it. Jimmy's actually stricken him speechless.

"Anyway, maybe we could try again? Tomorrow night or whenever you're not busy." Jimmy shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but inside his brain is a tumultuous mess of emotions. "Maybe you could bring your son 'round this time. I'm sure Scarlet would love him—as well as not having to watch her father trying to flirt."

Robert's face falls. It's like Jimmy's words just made everything  _worse_.

Jimmy scrambles to salvage this moment before it's lost forever to his horrible suggestions. "Never mind. Just ignore that bit. But I wouldn't mind having you over again sometime anyway. If it's not an inconvenience."  _If I haven't just fucked this up beyond all repair._

Robert smiles, all warmth and forgiveness. "Not at all."

* * *

Robert isn't coming over until tomorrow night, so Jimmy has time to stock up the refrigerator. Scarlet's excited that Robert's scheduled to have dinner with them again, but Jimmy's terrified. He doesn't know how to do this like a person. It's going to mean something entirely different than before, something new and raw, and if Jimmy fucks this up he runs the risk of damaging Scarlet's relationship with Robert.

So, yeah, no pressure.

On Wednesday evening, Jimmy's been hitting the bottle pretty hard, so by the time dinner's ready and the table's set, he's feeling okay about all this. A fleeting feeling, for sure, but it's good enough to get him through the first half of the evening after Robert shows up.

Robert seems to be treating this like it's a do-over, like he hasn't been in this house before or tried to kiss Jimmy. He's sitting at the table looking the very definition of awkward, and Jimmy drops into the chair across from him. "C'mon, Plant, you've been here before. Loosen up." He thinks for a moment. "Does anybody ever call you Robbie? I'm gonna call you Robbie."

Robert makes a face. "'Robbie' is a chubby twelve-year-old."

Jimmy laughs. "Perfect."

Through most of the evening, he ends up laughing at all of his own jokes and most of what Robert says, regardless of whether it's actually funny or not. Also, his posture grows increasingly terrible, to the point where he's got his legs open underneath the table and an arm slung over the back of his chair.

Robert's not quite as relaxed, though he hasn't had a constant supply of alcohol into his bloodstream. But Jimmy notices how uncomfortable Robert looks, as though he's waiting for something horrible to happen. And, yeah, that's probably Jimmy's fault, because last time wasn't exactly a rousing success. But what the fuck did Robert think was going to happen? He took a calculated risk, but, man, is he bad at math.

After dinner, Jimmy says to Scarlet, "Go brush your teeth and get changed for bed. I'll be in to read you a story, then it's bedtime."

She shakes her head. "I don't want you to read me a story. I want Mr. Plant to do it."

Jimmy blinks in surprise. Has the king of storytime finally be dethroned? He's a little wounded, if he's honest. "Mr. Plant isn't here as a teacher when he's visiting our home, dear."

"It's all right," Robert says, sliding out of his chair and moving over to where Jimmy's standing in the kitchen. "I don't mind." He bends down to get on eye-level with Scarlet. "What story would you like, love?"

"The one you told in class about your son."

Robert chuckles weakly. "Oh, that wasn't about him. That was about the brave man I named him after."

She shrugs. "That one."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow but doesn't interrupt.

"Then you go get ready for bed, and I'll be up for storytime," Robert says. Jimmy feels his heart swell, and he doesn't know why.

Scarlet does as she's told and climbs the stairs. Jimmy watches until she's out of sight, then he looks at Robert. "Who did you name your son after?"

"Caractacus. Welsh general."

Jimmy smirks. "Really? Not Aragorn or Frodo or... something heartbreaking?"

Robert leans against the kitchen island and sighs a sad sound.

"It must be awful to only see him on weekends," Jimmy says. "I can't imagine not having Scarlet around all the time."

Robert's eyes are tight with worry or pain. "Yeah..."

Jimmy can see the hurt there, but he isn't sure why he pushes at the subject. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened between you and your wife?"

"Irreconcilable differences," Robert says with a pained half-smile. He's toying with the silver cuff around his wrist, the way he's been doing almost all evening.

Jimmy knows how to take a hint. He moves for the cabinet above the sink and pulls open the door, displaying his impressive collection of booze. "Care for a drink?"

"If you're having one."

Jimmy pours three fingers' worth of Jack over the sweaty ice in his glass. Robert looks like he wants to say something when Jimmy pours him the same, but he keeps quiet, opting to stare at the contents of the glass as though it holds the meaning of life.

Jimmy wastes no time drinking it down, because he's standing here alone in his kitchen with Robert, and he's beginning to feel feelings again. That simply will not do.

"So, how many bottles of this does a studio musician go through?" Robert asks with a hint of a smile.

"Enough," Jimmy teases.

"Do you drink every day?"

"Only when I'm nervous or can't sleep."

"Which one are you now?"

It sounds like a joke, but Jimmy gives a semi-honest answer. "Both."

From upstairs, Scarlet calls, "Daddy!"

Jimmy sets his glass down and heads for the stairs. "I'm sure she'll be asking for you next," he says over his shoulder, beckoning Robert to follow him. Robert does, albeit awkwardly.

Jimmy enters Scarlet's room and says, "I thought you wanted Mr. Plant to read you a story."

"I do. But I want you to tuck me in."

He can't help but smile. Kids. "All right then." He pulls back the blankets so she can snuggle in, arranges her plush animals just so. "Good night, love." He tucks in the duvet around her and kisses her forehead.

Robert's loitering just behind the doorway, like he isn't sure he has permission to enter this sacred ground. Jimmy rises from the bed and gives him a friendly smile, as if to say, "Come on in." Robert doesn't get the message. Fuck, he's probably too afraid to do anything now, burned by Jimmy's harsh rejection last time.

Jimmy sidles up beside him in the doorway. He doesn't mean to touch him. It just sort of... happens. His hand finds Robert's elbow and curves around it, fingers edging against the way his sleeve's rolled up. It's just a gentle nudge, but the feel of warm skin under Jimmy's fingertips and the familiarity of the gesture hits him like a sack of bricks.

Jimmy remembers doing this with Charlotte, how they'd stand outside of the nursery together and watch Scarlet sleep, awed and proud that, holy shit, they made a  _person_. Jimmy would curl his fingers around her arm or her hand, and she'd lean against the weight of him, and, fuck, he needs a drink.

Robert doesn't appear to notice Jimmy's internal freakout, just makes his way into the room like this is something they do now. Jimmy manages a quiet escape to the kitchen. He takes a drink straight from the bottle, because he's a grown-ass man and he can totally do that.

This was a mistake. He shouldn't have pushed himself, shouldn't have entertained the idea of moving on. What was he hoping to find here anyway? Something to fill the void? What a stupid, impossible notion.

Jimmy digs a lighter and a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of the kitchen cabinet. He slides open the door to the back porch to light up, craving something to take the edge off his nerves. The chill of the night air prickles at his skin.

He takes a long drag off the cigarette, gazing out at the back yard. Would it be so wrong to try to love Robert? Even if that love would only be a faint echo of what Jimmy's capable of, even if his heart is far away and grieving, wouldn't Charlotte want him to be as happy as possible? She was so full of love herself; death couldn't smother that exuberant spirit. She would not begrudge him this.

Maybe it will be nice. Maybe it won't feel like a betrayal.

Jimmy wonders how he might feel if their situations were reversed, if Charlotte was the one who survived the accident. He would not want to see her hurting like this. If Charlotte met someone who made her feel halfway human, someone who was patient and kind and full of love for their daughter... He would wish all the happiness in the world for her, or as close to happiness as she could get.

Jimmy takes another drag and feels the light breeze against his face. Charlotte's never coming back, so who the hell is Jimmy saving himself for? Does it really matter if he tries to collect the leftover scraps of his life with someone else?

Is it the right thing to do?

He closes his eyes. Whatever he does tonight—if he does anything at all—should feel natural, as easy as breathing. He shouldn't have to second-guess himself or dull his nerves with alcohol and nicotine. What the hell happened to him? He used to be so confident and charming around women, though Robert's very much  _not_  a woman, so maybe that's what's throwing him off.

Jimmy doesn't think it is, though.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he hears the porch door slide open. "Oh, here you are," Robert says, flashing a quick, unsure smile and standing beside him. The smoke from Jimmy's cigarette floats up between them. "I didn't know you smoke."

Jimmy takes a long drag and exhales through his nostrils. "Sometimes I like to breathe the smoke out of my nose and pretend I'm a dragon." Six Drink Jimmy is the life of the party.

Robert's mouth does that cute, trying-not-to-laugh thing that makes Jimmy's nerves flutter behind his ribs. "You know that's not good for you," he says, his voice suddenly serious.

"Thanks,  _Dad_."

Robert takes the sarcasm in stride. "I'm only thinking of Scarlet. I'm sure she would miss you if you weren't around anymore."

Jimmy opens his mouth to argue with that but reconsiders. He huffs out a scoff of a laugh and takes another puff in silent defiance.

They stand there for a moment, neither one saying anything. This isn't calming Jimmy down, not by a long shot. There's still an anxious edge in his chest, and, fuck, when was the last time Jimmy Page was  _nervous_  around someone?

Not since... Not since Charlotte.

He wonders if that means something.

Robert reaches over and plucks the cigarette from between Jimmy's fingers. Jimmy thinks he ought to complain out of principle, but he's transfixed by the way Robert's mouth wraps around the filter, the way smoke leaves his lips in a lazy swirl. "You know that's not good for you," Jimmy teases, because of course he has to step all over his feelings with a joke. "Don't you want to be around for your son?"

Robert stiffens like he's just been slapped. His eyes have a sort of shattered look to them. Jimmy swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. That was not the reaction he was hoping for. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it, huh?" Six Drink Jimmy does not know when to shut the fuck up.

Robert doesn't answer, just silently finishes off the cigarette in a way that's almost more intimidating than anything he could say. When he's finished, he flicks the butt onto the concrete and stubs it out with the toe of his shoe.

_Oh, boner, not now._

Jimmy shoves that feeling away, because it's long-lost and familiar, so much so that it aches, like a wound that won't heal. He wets his lips and jumps straight to the point. "Why did you kiss me?"

Robert's face flushes red, and he pushes a hand underneath his mass of curls and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry, I—I shouldn't have—I was just—It just seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"Well, you certainly did it," Jimmy says with a hint of good humor. "But there had to be a more compelling reason, right? Or do you kiss everyone you meet?" He watches Robert blush impossibly redder. "I thought I was special."

Robert's doing that nervous thing with the bracelet again, and it's almost enough to make Jimmy reach out and stop him. "You—you are—I mean, I wouldn't have even considered it if Scarlet hadn't asked me to go on a date with you."

That sobers Jimmy the fuck up. "She did?" Scarlet is  _so_  grounded.

"She said you'd say yes if I asked you out."

Jimmy winces inwardly, because, yeah, he did kind of say that. Granted, it was under duress, but he can see how Scarlet would hear it that way.

"But I told her I'd be happy to go on a date with you, but only if you asked me first."

The booze-soaked cogs in Jimmy's head begin to turn. Scarlet probably knew Jimmy wasn't going to nut up and actually ask Robert to dinner, so she took matters into her own tiny hands. That's actually kind of genius. Should he be upset or impressed that his daughter is playing matchmaker?

"I swear to God, I don't know where she gets this."

"Children tend to follow by example," Robert says, like he's being helpful.

Jimmy shakes his head, because there's no way Scarlet's learning any of this from him. "I don't meddle in anyone's personal affairs. It's got to be—" Jimmy pauses as the answer hits him. "Fucking Jonesy." He's going to have a stern talk with Jonesy about this tomorrow.

"Your neighbor?"

"He's always trying to set me up on dates. It's actually very disconcerting. I worry about the poor sod sometimes." Jonesy's head is probably a weird place to be.

"He seems nice enough. It's good you've got someone looking out for you."

"I suppose it's better than the alternative."

Robert glances away for a moment before he says, "Honestly, I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think you were flirting with me the whole night. Shows you how long it's been since I've done this myself."

Jimmy stares at the curve of Robert's mouth. If he just moves in a little closer... It would be very easy. Robert wouldn't reject him.

But can Jimmy do it?

Robert just watches him, like he's waiting for Jimmy to act on this thing that's got his nerves pinching tight under his ribs.

Jimmy takes a step and says, "There's something I want to try." Robert doesn't move, willing to let Jimmy take what he needs. Jimmy's right there, their faces so close, and he hesitates, testing himself, before pressing his mouth over Robert's own.

Robert tastes like whiskey and tobacco, his lips opening almost immediately, granting Jimmy entry. Jimmy tilts his head and licks his way into Robert's mouth, wet and messy, teeth catching his lower lip. His breath comes in a wild gasp, and his fingers trail the edge of Robert's face, holding him there as their lips move. Robert hums a quiet sound into the sweet vortex of their conjoined mouths, then Jimmy pulls him closer.

It's his first kiss in five years—fucking years—and Jimmy can't find the desire to want to stop. It seems wrong that he gets to have this, that he's allowed to want, that he's rewarded for it.

Robert's hands are careful and impossibly light when they settle on Jimmy's hips and tug him closer. They feel like they belong there, wide and strong, and it's enough to make Jimmy pull his mouth away and stare at Robert, stunned and frightened by how much he wants this.

Robert misinterprets the reason for Jimmy's lost expression. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay," Jimmy reassures him, feeling a sharp stab of pain at how hurt Robert looks. "I'll get used to it—to us."

Robert reaches out, and Jimmy doesn't flinch away or put distance between them. Robert lays his hand over the curve of Jimmy's cheek. "You don't have to feel guilty."

Jimmy smiles, half-hearted. "Yeah, I do. But I'll get used to it."


	5. Chapter 5

Scarlet's full of questions the next morning before school. "Daddy, are you dating Mr. Plant?"

It takes hearing that out loud for it to really sink in. "I suppose I am," Jimmy says. He doesn't know how to feel about that. Half of him wants to enjoy it, because this is his first taste of happiness and normalcy in years, but the other half is quite comfortable in misery, thank you very much.

Jimmy helps her get her shoes on, ties the laces for her. "But can you keep it a secret for me?" he asks.

"Why?"

Jimmy's not sure he wants to get into the whole prejudicial bit with her right now, so he says, "Well, I don't want people to know yet." He tries to think of a way to make her understand. "Do you remember the baby penguins?" Earlier in the summer, Jimmy took Scarlet to the zoo, and the penguins were one of her favorite animals. "Remember how they were small and fragile, so the mummy and daddy penguins protected them?"

She nods.

"Well, sometimes relationships, when they first begin, are a lot like those baby penguins. They're young and could get hurt very easily, so they need to be protected and nurtured until they're strong enough to do for themselves."

Jimmy really hopes Scarlet doesn't start poking holes in this piss-poor analogy.

But Scarlet seems to understand what he's getting at. "So it won't be secret forever?"

"No, it won't be. It just needs to be secret for a little while. There's a lot of things Mr. Plant doesn't know about me. And I want to wait and see how we get on before I tell him. So if you could keep it a secret until I tell you it's okay, that would make me very happy."

Scarlet smiles. "Okay."

"You won't tell anyone?"

She covers her mouth and shakes her head.

"Not even Uncle Jonesy or Aunt Mo?"

Another head shake.

"That's good. Thank you."

For the next week or so, Jimmy continues inviting Robert into his home, sharing his space with him. It doesn't happen every night—Jimmy needs time to decompress from the stress of it all—but when it does it's predictably chaste. Sometimes Jimmy ends the night with a kiss. Sometimes he doesn't. Every night he goes to bed and feels like he's failed  _someone_.

But being with Robert feels good. Even if Jimmy falls asleep with the horrible burn of guilt in his stomach, he still looks forward to seeing Robert every day and kissing him goodnight on the evenings when he stays for dinner. Jimmy can lie to himself and pretend it's different because Robert's a man, that he's not betraying Charlotte because Robert has sharp angles and subtle curves, a chest that's broad and much like Jimmy's own, wide hands and a square jaw, a bulge in his jeans that Jimmy wants to one day explore.

As long as he's pretending, Jimmy wants to see Robert again. But this time, he steps out of his comfort zone and asks if they can meet at Robert's place. Robert agrees, so Jimmy drops Scarlet off at Jonesy's, because he's curious how he and Robert might get along without the impetus for their relationship along for the ride.

Jonesy's ecstatic, a goofy smile spreading over his mouth when Jimmy hands over Scarlet. "You've got a date?"

"Don't sound so excited. It's unnatural for a man to be so interested in his mate's personal life." If Jimmy weren't joking, he'd be the world's biggest hypocrite.

"It's also unnatural to go five years without the touch of a woman," Jonesy says.

Jimmy just laughs, because if Jonesy only knew...

"How long do you think you'll be out?"

Is there even a chance Jimmy might stay the night? Scarlet doesn't have school tomorrow—neither does Robert—so it's a vague possibility, but Jimmy isn't sure if he's ready for that. It's not just the expectation of sex—though that's a huge part of it—but the intimacy of trusting someone enough to sleep alongside them in their bed. Both of those things terrify Jimmy.

"I should be back in a few hours. I'll ring you if plans change."

Jonesy's still grinning like a proud parent. "I'm happy for you, Jim. I hope all goes well."

"Yeah, me too."

Robert lives in a decent-enough apartment building in Westminster. It's nothing spectacular, but it could look far worse—at least on the outside. Each unit is stuffed together a little too closely like bad orthodontic work. The building is a soft cream color with varying shades of brick compositing the top floor—four units have a matching sand brick color, the next four have a darker, browner hue, and so on. But the balconies have a nice, wrought-iron design to them.

Jimmy's just wasting time admiring the architecture. He steps out of his car and follows the walkway to Robert's door.

Robert answers Jimmy's knock with a smile and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. His jeans are almost a size too small, drawing way too much attention to his dick. Jimmy hears himself gasp, entirely unprepared for this one-two punch to his hormones. "Hi." Killer opening line.

"Hi yourself." Robert's smile is a thing to be treasured. He steps aside, allowing Jimmy to enter. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Jimmy steps inside and says, "'Humble' is right." The décor, what little there is, is standard fare, nothing too unique or personal. Everything's lit with soft yellow and beige tones that make Jimmy feel like he's in a college art film. It's so impersonal Jimmy wonders if Robert even lives here at all. His first guess is that Robert's just moved in, but there aren't any boxes around to back up that theory.

The only evidence that Robert calls this place home are the countless photographs—both framed and unframed—of Robert and a boy about Scarlet's age that Jimmy's assuming is his son, since the kid is almost a miniature version of Robert himself.

Maybe Robert's got two places, and his real home is messy or in some dreary neighborhood, so he uses this flat to give off a good impression to guests.

Nah, not on a teacher's salary.

"Do you even live here?" Jimmy asks, sitting on a couch so pristine he expects it to be draped in plastic.

Robert laughs. "I'm not much of a decorator. And I haven't really had time to dress up the place."

Robert probably doesn't get a lot of guests either.

"You can sit at the table if you'd like," he says, pulling out one of two chairs. "Food's just about ready."

Jimmy makes his way over to the kitchen. "What are we having?"

Robert sort of shields the finished dish with his body, as though expecting Jimmy to judge his culinary efforts. "Well, I'm not an expert chef like you—"

"Expert?" Jimmy snorts a laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Everything you've made is fantastic."

"Thank you, but my secret is being able to follow a recipe." Robert doesn't budge. Jimmy sniffs the air. "Whatever it is, it certainly smells enticing."

"It may not be the most attractive thing you've ever seen, but I taste-tested it. It doesn't taste as bad as it looks."

"That's encouraging."

Robert steps away, and, wow, he wasn't kidding. Whatever's in that casserole dish is a hulking mass of brown and orange, topped with what Jimmy thinks might be mashed potatoes and melted cheese.

Jimmy dares to ask, "What is it?"

"Shepherd's pie."

"If you say so."

"There are embellishments, of course." Jimmy still looks skeptical; Robert frowns. "Oh, come on, like I'd really feed us something questionable. Who do you think I am: Mrs. Lovett?"

Jimmy laughs a hearty, rich sound; he doesn't really mean to, it just sort of comes out, because Robert's sense of humor is  _amazing_. "Alright, you won me over."

Appearances are indeed deceiving, because the pie tastes nothing like it looks. Jimmy offers compliments over dinner, and Robert accepts them with a sheepish smile and reddening cheeks. They're silent for a minute or so, because Jimmy finds himself sneaking glances at Robert's chest. He can't really focus on another conversational topic when his gaze keeps snagging there.

And it's not as though Robert's a woman, therefore blessed with obvious endowments in the chest area. Robert's chest is, anatomically speaking, built the same as Jimmy's. He's got no real reason to stare, no excuse of curiosity about the opposite sex. But he catches himself wondering what Robert's chest might feel like under his hands, how his nipples might respond to the slightest manipulation. Jimmy's stomach twists up at the thought.

"You're staring," Robert says, his mouth pulled into a crooked smile that Jimmy wants to kiss away.

Busted. Might as well roll with it. "If my teachers had looked half as good as you, my schooling years would have turned out very differently."

Robert chuckles and goes a bit red. "You're quite the charmer when you want to be, aren't you?"

"I'm a bit rusty," Jimmy says with a shrug. "Have you got anything to drink?"

Robert realizes Jimmy's not asking for water or tea. "Just Watney's."

"Jesus Christ, Robert, why do you hate yourself so much?"

Robert laughs. "Hey, it's not that bad," he says, because he's a goddamn liar. "Don't take the piss out of Watney's."

"Yeah, else there won't be anything left." But Jimmy's up and grabbing a bottle from the fridge anyway.

Jimmy really loves the sound of Robert's laugh. Charlotte wasn't the biggest fan of Jimmy's dry sense of humor; in the early days of their courtship, she did that fake laughter that girls do when they like a guy but don't understand his jokes. But Robert's laughter is all heart and honesty, and Jimmy thinks he could get used to it.

He twists open his beer and takes a drink. "God, this tastes like gnat's piss compared to my Jack."

"Well, I'm sorry, Little Lord Fauntleroy, but not all of us can afford your fancy, expensive spirits."

Jimmy snorts. It really doesn't help his burgeoning crush that Robert makes him laugh too.

"Besides," Robert says, "I thought your blood was eighty percent whisky anyway."

"I think you and Jonesy would really get on. When he found out about my interest in Aleister Crowley, he took to calling me Beelzebooze and rode that one 'til the wheels fell off."

Robert laughs again, and Jimmy smiles to himself. This is their first date spent without the common link of Scarlet to hold them together; Jimmy thinks it's going pretty well. But Robert's flat is rife with pictures of his son, and Jimmy hasn't even asked about him yet.

Jimmy takes another drink and wages war with his gag reflex. "Is that your son in all those pictures?" Obvious question, but whatever.

Robert glances behind him, as though to see what Jimmy's talking about. "Oh, yeah," he says, a sad smile on his mouth. "That's Karac."

"He's definitely got your genes. Unless his mother looks just like you."

Robert makes an amused sound. "Not quite. Maureen's from India."

"Still a sore subject, isn't it? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"No, it's alright. My mate Bonzo always says talking about things helps."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "You've got a mate named Bonzo?"

"Obviously that's not what it says on his birth certificate," Robert says, rolling his eyes like Jimmy's being ridiculous. "And what kind of name is Jonesy anyway?"

"It's just one extra letter tacked onto his surname."

"Maybe I should start calling you Pagey then."

Jimmy tries valiantly to hide his smile. "Fine,  _Planty_. No, wait, I like Robbie better."

Robert glares at Jimmy with his eyebrows. "Jim-Jam."

That one makes Jimmy snicker. "Now that's not fair. You're not playing by the rules."

"What rules? There were rules?"

"We were just adding a 'y' to each other's names, not creating entirely new ones."

Robert shrugs. "Rules were made to be broken, Pagey."

"That's a very unorthodox stance for a teacher."

"I don't endorse that in class, obviously."

"Well, then if it's so obvious you shouldn't need to say it," Jimmy says, teasing him a little.

Robert does a pouty thing with his mouth that's ridiculously attractive. "Aren't you pedantic tonight?"

"All I need is a monocle and a tobacco pipe." Jimmy chuckles to himself and plucks at the label of his beer bottle for a moment. "Watney's: Weaker and tasting nastier every year." He points to each letter to illustrate the joke, as though Robert hasn't heard it a hundred times by now.

But Robert laughs like it's new to him, and Jimmy can't remember the last time he enjoyed himself this much.

Jimmy thinks he's done something good here tonight by stepping out of his comfort zone. He took a chance and ended up happier for it. Maybe he can push himself a little further and see what happens.

After dinner, Robert tries to shoo Jimmy away from the sink, because he's a guest and guests aren't supposed to wash dishes. But Jimmy's never been one to take no for an answer, so Robert acquiesces and apologizes for his lack of a dishwasher.

When they're finished, Jimmy gets his chance to toe his personal line of comfort, because Robert's sort of standing around like he isn't sure whether to show Jimmy to the door or ask him to stay.

So Jimmy decides to make the call for him. He works up his nerve and says, "I enjoyed myself tonight. Maybe—maybe I could stay?"

Robert's body stiffens as though Jimmy's words hold an electric shock.

"We don't have to do anything," Jimmy clarifies, speaking a little faster now as his face grows hotter. "I just thought it would be nice to stay the night. I could make you breakfast in the morning. I make a bloody good eggs Benedict. Or pancakes, if you'd prefer something sweet."

Robert's expression doesn't soften.

Jimmy backpedals so much further he might as well be out on the street. He should have just left this alone. "Never mind, it's—it's too much, I understand."

Robert says, "It's not that I don't want to—believe me, I do—I just... I have to pick up Karac tomorrow morning, and it's a long drive. I like to get an early start."

Jimmy swallows and attempts to salvage the evening. "I could go with you." He tries to dial back the eagerness in his voice. "I'd love to meet your son. Scarlet would be overjoyed to have a new playmate her own age, don't you think?"

He hates that he sounds like he's pleading here. It's not as though Jimmy's hidden Scarlet away from Robert—she adores him. If Robert gets to have a near fatherly relationship with Jimmy's daughter, can't he at least introduce his son to Jimmy?

Robert purses his lips, his eyes darting like scattered birds. "Maybe some other time, yeah?"

Jimmy does his best not to show how wounded he is. "Oh, yeah, of course." Maybe it's too early to braid himself into Robert's life this way, but Jimmy still feels rejected, as though Robert doesn't trust him enough to let him meet Karac. Which would be understandable in any other situation.

Robert lifts a hand to Jimmy's cheek. "I want to, more than anything, but I can't." His voice sounds oddly strained. "It—it hasn't been that long since Maureen and I separated. Karac's just getting used to the whole situation; I don't want to spring something like this on him so soon."

Jimmy nods, feeling numb from the neck down. He does his best to force some life into his voice. "It's understandable." Maybe he wouldn't feel so thoroughly rejected if Robert had agreed to let him stay. He could always slip out in the morning, but Jimmy refuses to plead his case now. He already feels foolish enough for wanting this, for making himself vulnerable.

"So, this is goodnight, then?" Jimmy asks. A pained smile tears its way across his face.

Robert gives a slight nod before pressing his mouth over Jimmy's own. Jimmy can't help but moan out a soft noise of want. Robert kisses his open mouth, curls his fingers in Jimmy's hair. It feels apologetic, and Jimmy tries to take a bit of comfort in that.

When Jimmy moves in uncertain steps to the door, Robert keeps a warm, gentle hand on his back. "Maybe we could try this again after the weekend's over," Robert says softly. "If—if you still want to, of course."

At least Robert's willing to give this a second chance. Jimmy swallows back the lump in his throat. "I—I do. Have a good night."

Robert opens his mouth as though he wants to say something more, but he stops, closes off with a shake of his head. Instead, he says, "You too," around an unconvincing smile.

Jimmy smiles in return, feeling weak and stupid and like a sucker. He gets into his car and drives away. He doesn't look back.

* * *

Jimmy's still reeling from the sting of rejection when he goes to Jonesy's house to pick up Scarlet. Jonesy answers the door with a smile that immediately falls flat once he gets a look at Jimmy. "Bad date?"

"Just give me my daughter," Jimmy says with a sigh.

"At least tell me what happened?"

"It's complicated."

"People always say that, but it never really is."

Jimmy rolls his eyes. He wants very badly to put Scarlet to bed and console himself with a bottle of Jack. "Poignant, Jones. Really."

Jonesy knows Jimmy's moods, and he knows he won't be able to coax any details out of Jimmy tonight. He shrugs and lets Jimmy inside. "Well, at least you got back out there and tried. The first step is always the hardest. You'll get back into the groove of things."

Jonesy really missed his calling as a motivational speaker. Christ.

Jimmy finds Scarlet fast asleep on the couch and hefts her up. She wraps her arms around his neck instinctively, burying her face in his shirt. He turns to Jonesy and whispers, "Thank you."

He manages to get her tucked into her bed pretty quickly, but she's in a deep sleep, so that's not saying much. Jimmy creeps downstairs and finds his trusty bottle of whisky. He pours himself three fingers' worth and drinks it down. It tastes like a cupcake smoothie after that piss-poor excuse for a beer.

But Jimmy still wishes he were with Robert drinking Watney's than being here alone nursing a shot of Jack Daniels.


	6. Chapter 6

"It's been two days," Robert moans to Bonzo, who's tinkering around with his motorcycle in the workshop. "He hasn't said anything about getting together again. Do you think he—what if he hates me?"

Bonzo makes a noise in his throat. "What'd you do to piss him off?" Because of course he assumes this is Robert's fault. Which, okay, it probably is, but the benefit of the doubt would be nice every once in a while.

"He wanted to stay the night. I told him maybe some other time."

Bonzo actually stops what he's doing to affix Robert with an incredulous look. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you hit your head or something? I thought you wanted a quick shag or two."

Robert isn't sure how he feels about thinking of Jimmy in terms of a quick shag. "It's different with him. He's the father of one of my students. Can you imagine how easily this could go wrong?"

"He asked to stay the night," Bonzo reminds him. "I think it's clear what he's got in mind."

"I know, and I wanted to, but..."

"But?"

Robert twists the bangle on his wrist and stares intently at a streak of grease on the concrete. "But if he stayed he'd find out about Karac."

Bonzo's eyes bulge. "He doesn't know?"

"That's not exactly great first-date conversation, Bonz'. 'Hi, I'm Robert. My son died, which turned me into a hopeless mess who can't pull his shit together. How are you?'"

"Might wanna work on the wording a bit."

Robert exhales a frustrated breath, puffing a curl of hair out of his face.

"So you invited this guy into your flat, and Karac never came up at all?" Bonzo asks, wiping his hands on a rag and grabbing a wrench out of his toolbox. "He didn't notice all the pictures, or did you hide those before he showed up?"

"Jimmy doesn't know that Karac is... no longer with us," Robert murmurs, still toying with the bracelet.

Robert looks up when he hears the clang of metal against the concrete. Bonzo has actually dropped the wrench in shock. "Oh my God, you told him Karac's alive, didn't you?"

Robert doesn't answer, just sort of breathes out in a way that sounds guilty.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Robert, what am I gonna do with you?"

"Look, I know it's not the best idea I've ever had—"

"You're bloody right about that."

Robert glares at him and keeps going. "But Jimmy's the only person who doesn't look at me with pity. So, yeah, I embellished a little. I talk about Karac like he's still here—mostly with the kids, since they don't know—and, well, sometimes it's hard to turn that off, you know? It's easier to think he's just living with his mum out of town instead of..." He rubs a hand over his face.

Bonzo sighs. "If you like this bloke, he's gonna find out eventually."

"I know, I just—I had a really nice evening the other night, and I want to have a few more before he finds out the truth."

"Try to get laid at least once, or I'll have to revoke your man-badge."

"I thought you revoked that when you learned I like blokes."

Bonzo shrugs. "I was drunk. I gave it back the next day."

"I don't remember that part of the conversation," Robert grumbles, but he doesn't much care. Water under the bridge and whatnot.

"But, hey, you told me your deep, dark secret and it didn't change anything. I crack a few jokes now and then, but that's as far as it goes. Maybe this bloke won't turn tail and run when he finds out about Karac."

"Maybe he'll just get that sad look in his eyes around me that says 'oh, you poor thing.' Pity is like a fart; you can tolerate your own, but you can't stand anyone else's."

Bonzo snorts a laugh. "That's colorful." He goes to work on the bike and says, "If you want to see him again, why don't you nut up and ask him?"

Robert wants to say something like, "because he might be cross with me," but he knows Bonzo will just roll his eyes and say something about trudging through the awkward process of apologies and making amends. It's like Bonzo thinks just because a guy likes other guys suddenly means they're immune to the usual male aversion to talking about hurt feelings and anger.

"If it goes poorly, I'm blaming you," Robert says, getting to his feet.

"Great. Send him my way if he's cross with you. I'll take the blame."

Robert still doesn't know when Bonzo's being sarcastic.

* * *

Jimmy ends up being the one to arrange another date with Robert, this time at Jimmy's house on Friday evening. Jimmy takes care preparing a special dinner for the three of them and does his best not to reach for the whisky when he gets nervous. He's going to attempt to deal with things like a normal person, which is a new and frightening prospect, but Jimmy thinks he's up for it. Robert's already rejected him once; he might be able to take it in stride a second time.

Robert shows up at Jimmy's door wearing a t-shirt that stops just below his navel, giving Jimmy a tantalizing view of skin, and jeans that ride so low on his hips Jimmy wonders how the hell they're even staying up. He can see that delicious slope of groin muscle that starts at the top of Robert's hips and disappears into his jeans. Jesus Christ.

Over dinner, Jimmy asks Robert, "So, what do you do in your free time? Besides play piano and steal harmonicas?"

Robert tries to hide a smile, but he's not very good at it. "I've always loved football since I was about Scarlet's age. My dad and I didn't agree on much, but we had a shared passion for the Wolves."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "Wolves?"

"The Wolverhampton Wanderers," Robert says. "You're not a big fan of sports, are you?"

"Not particularly."

Scarlet laughs as though remembering something. "Daddy's not very good at football," she says. "He hit Uncle Jonesy in the face with the ball one time."

"Not on purpose," Jimmy says, his face going red with chagrin.

Robert laughs that beautiful sound again and looks at Scarlet. "He did?"

"Uh-huh, we were playing at Uncle Jonesy's, and Daddy was s'posed to be on my team, but he's not very good, and he kicked the ball and hit Uncle Jonesy so he couldn't play anymore," Scarlet explains. "There was blood everywhere." She says this like it's the coolest thing she's ever seen.

It's one thing when your kid embarrasses you in front of a total stranger, but there's nothing quite like the humiliation you feel when your wonderful offspring relays some mortifying anecdote in front of your crush.

At thirty-one years old, Jimmy discovers you can still crush on someone like you're fifteen again. He never really realized that before, but he finds it terrifying, yet oddly reassuring.

Robert's laughing though, his nose wrinkling adorably, so maybe Jimmy can't be too upset about Scarlet's lack of a verbal filter here. "I'm sure your daddy didn't mean it," he says around a grin.

"He's still bad at football," Scarlet says, like she's disappointed in Jimmy's athletic failures.

"But he's good at lots of other things though, right?"

Jimmy cannot believe this is an actual discussion that's happening in front of him.

"He's the best at guitar," Scarlet says. "He taught me how to draw and helped me paint my room, and he's really tall so he doesn't need a ladder to get stuff that's up high. Just like you!"

"That's a good skill to have," Robert agrees.

"And he makes really good food, but not as good as Aunt Mo."

"Well, Aunt Mo went to school for that. That's not really fair." Jimmy needs to derail this conversation immediately. "What about things Mr. Plant is good at?" he asks, hoping to spin the embarrassment in a different direction.

"Everything!" Scarlet says, and Robert looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh. "He's the best at reading stories, and he makes you happy, Daddy!"

Jimmy looks at Robert, wondering if Scarlet's said too much. But Robert doesn't seem bothered by it. "Yes, love, he does," Jimmy admits, something warm blooming in his chest.

Scarlet turns to Robert and says, "Daddy used to drink a lot of grown-up juice that helps you not feel sad anymore, but you make him happy so he doesn't need to drink it anymore."

Scarlet has just outed him as a depressed alcoholic. Jimmy wonders if there's a way to politely die at the table. "Sweetheart," he says, his cheeks burning, "why don't you finish your dinner and give Mr. Plant a chance to talk?"

Scarlet does as she's told, and Jimmy wonders what he's done to deserve this. Robert's just smiling to himself in a sad sort of way; Jimmy isn't sure what that's about, but at least Robert's not looking for the exit.

They manage to make it through dinner without Scarlet trying to embarrass him again. When it's Scarlet's bedtime, she proudly announces she wants Robert to read her a story tonight. Jimmy gets her tucked in and kisses her goodnight before leaving her to Robert. Jimmy hovers just outside the door, out of sight but within earshot, because he loves how good Robert is with Scarlet.

"Oh, is this your mum?" Robert asks. He must have seen the framed photograph of Scarlet, Jimmy, and Charlotte on Scarlet's night table.

"Uh-huh."

"She's beautiful. Just like you."

Scarlet makes a giggly noise.

The picture was taken when Scarlet was just a few months old, one of the rare photographs of the three of them together. Jimmy is holding her on his lap, and she's smiling and carefree, and Charlotte's smile is like a ray of sunlight, and Jimmy is happy and in love and doesn't know any better, and it hurts him to look at the picture now, so he doesn't.

"Do you have any more pictures of your mum?" Robert asks.

"Daddy does, but he doesn't like to look at them 'cause he gets sad."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"I dunno. I was a baby."

"I'm sure your daddy is very sad she left."

"Yeah, he's sad a lot," Scarlet says. "But he gets happy when you're here, or when I draw him a picture, or when he plays guitar by himself or with Uncle Jonesy."

"What do you remember about your mum?"

"I dunno. Daddy says she loves me a lot, and she used to sing to me when I couldn't sleep. Daddy sings to me sometimes but he's not very good."

"Your daddy can't be good at everything, love. And neither am I. I'm sure I wouldn't be good at playing guitar. I'm not really a good cook either." There's a brief moment of silence, then: "What story would you like tonight?"

Scarlet thinks for a moment. "Can you make one up?"

"I think I can do that," Robert says with a smile in his voice.

He tells her about his childhood visits to the Welsh countryside, the heroic deeds of a Welsh king that Jimmy highly doubts Robert's just making up. Scarlet listens to every word, totally riveted. When he's finished, Robert tells Scarlet good night, and Jimmy hears the soft creak of the bed springs as he gets up.

"Mr. Plant?" Scarlet says, soft and sleepy.

"Yes, love?"

"I wish you were my daddy."

Jimmy feels the stab in his chest, tries to ignore the prick of tears in his eyes.

For a moment, Robert's quiet, as though he isn't sure how to respond to that. When he speaks, his voice is sad and strained, "Scarlet, your daddy loves you very much. He's trying very hard, and maybe he's not good at all the things you want him to be good at, but he loves you more than anything in the whole world."

"But why can't you be my daddy too? So I'd have two daddies."

Jimmy almost gasps out loud.

Robert chuckles a warm sound, but there's a hint of sadness to it. "I think that's up to your daddy, isn't it? You have to be sure if you're going to let someone be your family, yeah?" He switches off her bedroom light. "Now go to sleep, dear. It's late, and you've had a big day."

"G'nite, Mr. Plant."

"Goodnight, love."

Jimmy hears Robert's footfalls drawing nearer, so he scurries down the hallway to his bedroom and pretends he wasn't eavesdropping. Robert inches Scarlet's door halfway closed and pads down the hall. "Pagey?" he stage-whispers, poking his head into Jimmy's room.

Jimmy's rustling through his bureau drawers. The sound of Robert's voice makes him look up. "Did you get her to sleep?"

Robert nods. Jimmy can see the hurt in his eyes.

"I s'pose you'll want to get going then? You've got to leave early in the morning to pick up your son, right?"

Robert's gaze flits away from Jimmy for a moment. "I, um, actually, Maureen's taking him to a doctor's appointment tomorrow, so I've got some time to spare. If—if you want, I mean."

"You're always welcome here," Jimmy says. He worries that maybe he's said too much, but Robert smiles, and Jimmy wants to make him look like that all the time.

"Thank you."

They creep downstairs, and Robert says, "Do you always hit people during a game of football, or was that just a freak accident?"

Jimmy laughs. "I'm not that poorly coordinated. When I was in my teens at school, I was a hurdler."

"Yeah? Were you any good?"

"Reasonably. But it sort of got in the way of my guitar playing."

"So it probably wouldn't be wise to run away from you," Robert says, joking.

Jimmy chuckles darkly. "No, that would be  _very_  wise." Before Robert can challenge that, Jimmy says, "But as long as you're here, would you like some tea?"

"Only if you're having some. I'm quite alright."

"That works too," Jimmy says with a chuckle. He decides not to have a drink tonight; after Scarlet's little announcement over dinner, Jimmy doesn't want to take chances.

They sit together on the couch. Jimmy glances sidelong at Robert, and looking at him makes something melt in Jimmy's chest. Robert turns to face him, a shy smile on his mouth. Jimmy notices the cleft that, at the proper angle, makes Robert's chin look like a tiny ass. It's goofy and endearing, just like Robert himself, but that works just fine for Jimmy.

Jimmy's coming up short on reasons why he shouldn't just lean over and kiss Robert. So he does. It's a tender, unhurried kiss, because Jimmy still isn't used to the way Robert's mouth feels against his own, still isn't used to the idea or the execution of kissing another man. Robert kisses like he's done it all before, which is comforting and a bit frightening for Jimmy.

When it's over, Jimmy catches Robert staring at the long white scar that runs along his left forearm. Jimmy pushes down his shirt sleeve self-consciously, hoping Robert won't ask about the scar.

"There was something I wanted to ask you," Robert says. "About Scarlet."

"Oh?" Jimmy's not sure how to prepare for this question.

"I've noticed that she doesn't really seem to"—he searches for the proper word—"engage with the other students beyond what's expected of her. She'll work in groups or with a partner when she's supposed to, but she doesn't really seem like she wants to make friends. She's not stand-offish or mean, just... uninterested?" Robert sort of shrugs. "I was just wondering if you've noticed any behavior problems at home or if she's said anything to you about it."

"It's probably my fault," Jimmy says. "She's never really been around other kids her own age. Our neighbors have two daughters—nine and ten—and Scarlet's always played with them. So she's used to playing with older children and adults. And maybe my teaching her to read and draw so early sort of skewed her expectations."

Robert nods. "I did consider that she might be too advanced for other students her age."

Jimmy gives him an apologetic smile. "I hope she doesn't give you any trouble."

"No, of course not. She's wonderful."

Jimmy figures this is the perfect segue into his next question. "Well, y'know, if you want her to make friends with kids her own age, maybe you could try bringing your son 'round next time? I'm sure she'd just adore him."

Robert gets that sad, distant look on his face and glances away. "Yeah, maybe," he says, but Jimmy hears the underlying "when hell bloody freezes over" behind the words.

This is bullshit. Robert's been avoiding the subject far too long now. Jimmy deserves an answer, not constant postponement.

"'Maybe'? So it's fine for Scarlet to see you as a second father, but I don't even get to  _meet_  your son? How is that fair?"

Robert squeezes his eyes shut. His mouth quivers like he's holding something back.

"I trust you with my child. Why don't you trust me with yours?" Jimmy doesn't mean to for that to sound so harsh, but anger rises up and takes control.

"What's the problem, then?" Jimmy continues, bearing down on Robert. "You think I'm a bad father deep down, don't you? Or maybe nothing we're doing here means shit to you. Is that it? I'm just your fucking charity case? 'Oh, look at this poor single father. He must be so lonely'—"

"You can't meet him because he's dead, Jimmy."

Dead.

The word seems to make time stand still. Jimmy's breath freezes in his lungs, turning his chest to stone. A rushing sound fills the silence between them, as if the room is an aircraft cabin and they're losing pressure too fast and plummeting through the sky.

Dead.

No. No. There's no goddamn way.

It all makes a horrifying amount of sense. The dazed, thousand-yard stare, the slump of his shoulders, the smile that never really reaches his eyes... What happened to Robert is every parent's worst nightmare. Holy fucking shit.

Robert looks absolutely gutted, like he never meant to just blurt it out like that. When he blinks, tears stream down his cheeks, and he immediately wipes them away. He looks like he's trying to find words to explain, but clearly there are no words for what's going on in his head right now.

Jimmy swallows back the lump in his throat so he can speak. "I—I'm—I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

Robert squeezes his eyes shut again and hides his face in his hands. He looks impossibly small on that couch, as if the grief has swallowed him up. He takes a breath and lets his hands drop away. "I lied to you—and Scarlet... I'm sorry. I just—I just wanted to pretend. I wasn't even thinking about how much worse I was making everything, you know? How deep of a hole I was digging myself. I never meant for it to get this far. I just wanted to  _forget_." His voice breaks like a rip of silk.

Jimmy feels his heart break too.

"I understand if you can't trust me now," Robert continues. His devastated eyes find Jimmy's face, and Jimmy flinches at the pain there. "But I didn't mean to hurt you." He hides his face again, fists his hands in his hair and tugs at it like he's trying to pull it out by the roots, like he's afraid everything's going to unravel behind this one thread.

Jimmy's never felt like more of an asshole in his entire life. He scoots closer, tentative, in case Robert doesn't want him there. But Robert's preoccupied with letting the agony conquer and devour him. So Jimmy reaches for Robert's wrist, disentangling his hand from his hair.

Jimmy laces their fingers together and says nothing for a moment. If he's got any hope of making Robert feel less horrible, he'll have to take his shield down and bare his own weakness. It's so fucking hard, because it's a place he's never wanted anyone to touch, but the heat of Robert's skin against his own punctures his defenses just enough to let a few words slip through.

"Scarlet's mother died five years ago in a car accident," he says, his voice clotted with pain. Jimmy's staring at the floor, unable to look at Robert. He hasn't talked about it this way with anyone since Jonesy. His entire body feels like a raw nerve. "I survived. She didn't."

Jimmy takes a breath and looks at Robert. Robert's staring at him with watery eyes, his lovely face crumpled anew. "Oh God..."

"So... I lied to you too." Jimmy needs Robert to know he hasn't ruined anything. They've both been keeping secrets.

But the words don't comfort Robert the way Jimmy hoped they might. "Not like I did. You weren't—you weren't pretending she was still alive."

"I used to," Jimmy admits, squeezing Robert's hand until his fingers relax. "I was in the hospital for so long that I missed the funeral. So... it was easier to pretend that it wasn't real, that she just left us and went out on her own." He's never told anyone this, not even Jonesy. "But I would look at Scarlet and wonder how a mother could ever walk out on her own child. The truth always finds a way."

Jimmy risks another glance at him. "It hasn't been very long, has it?"

Robert shakes his head slowly, like he expects to be punished for admitting that. "Almost three months."

Jimmy was a goddamn mess after three months. He didn't even go back to work until half a year had passed. He exhales and slides an arm around Robert's waist, pulling him close. "I'm so sorry I said those awful things to you. If I'd known—fuck, I wouldn't have—I wish I could take it back. Sorry isn't even enough."

Robert shakes his head. "It's okay. You didn't know." He sounds like he means it, but there's a touch of resignation in his voice. "But... do you really think I see you as a charity case?"

Jimmy needs to learn when to shut his stupid mouth. "I—no... I'm so sorry I ever—I wasn't thinking. Okay, I  _was_ , but it was all wrong." Robert wasn't trying to keep his distance; he was crushed under the weight of his own lie.

A swirl of emotions hangs in the air like static. Jimmy feels battered and bruised from opening up, and he thinks Robert is too. He holds him tighter and asks, "Do you want to stay tonight? You look exhausted."

Robert's brow creases in confusion, as though he wasn't expecting Jimmy to say that at all.

"You can wash up, change into some of my clothes if you'd like." Jimmy wants to claw the words back, because it's more than he's offered anyone in a long, long time. But Robert needs this, needs to know they're still good.

Robert studies Jimmy's face for a moment, then he nods slowly.

While Robert's upstairs in Jimmy's room, Jimmy stays in the kitchen and pours himself a drink.

Dead.

Jimmy still can't believe it. He can't even imagine losing Scarlet. His brain just won't go there. How did Robert find the strength to be a functioning human? Let alone return to work where he's bombarded by children the same age as his lost son.

Jimmy remembers seeing Robert at the cemetery. Christ, he was probably there visiting his son's grave. Robert's carried so much pain inside of him, and Jimmy hadn't even bothered to peel back that outward layer of good nature and find the throbbing cluster of hurt and grief. Robert had a family, a wife and a son, and it all got ripped away.

Jimmy knows Robert was an amazing father. Robert probably took his son to the park and to ball games, taught him how to read and play football. He probably read to him every night, tucked him into bed, kissed his forehead, and watched him fall asleep and... Damn.

Robert created a fantasy world where his son was still alive, and, really, who wouldn't when the alternative is facing the harsh, cruel reality, being stunned into numbness by the impermanence of everything?

Jimmy can't think about it anymore. He forces himself to focus on something else, anything else. He thinks about sharing his bed with Robert tonight. This will be the first time he's ever done that with anyone besides Charlotte and Scarlet. It's intimate in a way he's spent the last five years rejecting, out of duty or fear he isn't sure. Maybe a mix of both.

He drinks until he's no longer afraid and his veins hum with warmth. Robert emerges from the bedroom, lingering at the top of the stairs. "Are you going to stay down there all night?"

Jimmy swirls the melted ice in his glass for a moment. "I didn't want to crowd you. I'll be up in a bit. You don't have to wait for me, you know." He gives Robert an encouraging smile to soften how the words sound in his own ears.

Robert's wearing a hilariously-mismatched combination of one of Jimmy's old t-shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms. They fit him pretty well, snug in all the right places, and it makes Jimmy's breath hitch.

Robert seems to notice that Jimmy's eyeing him, because he says, "I figured the things at the bottom of the bureau weren't exactly your favorites."

Jimmy's surprised to hear himself chuckle. "You look good."

Robert does that smirky thing with his mouth. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

Jimmy scoffs, "No," and prompty disposes of his glass. He moves for the staircase. "Besides, I'm only a little buzzed. And I still say you look good. All three of you." It's easier than it ought to be to joke with him, even after tonight, and that gives Jimmy a much-needed burst of confidence that what they're doing here isn't a mistake.

Robert lays a hand on Jimmy's waist when he reaches the top of the stairs. "You should sleep that off, then," he says in his best teacher voice, which Jimmy's immune to, because he's not five years old.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

Under the steaming-hot shower spray, Jimmy's body relaxes enough to catch up to how his brain's feeling light and intoxicated. He lingers beneath the water, hopes that Robert will be asleep by the time he's finished. He doesn't know how to deal with an attractive man in his bed who might want  _things_ , things Jimmy isn't sure he can give yet.

After getting dressed and drying his hair—the latter of which takes a fair amount of time—Jimmy finds Robert asleep in the bed. His back's facing Jimmy, his damp, fluffy hair hiding his face. The bedside light's been switched off and the curtains pulled shut, so that's a good sign. Jimmy tiptoes to the bed in the darkness and bundles himself under the blankets.

Robert makes a soft noise in his throat when the mattress dips. Jimmy freezes. "Can I—can I put my arm around you?" Robert asks, his voice a low murmur.

Jimmy manages a nod, and Robert wraps an arm around him and cuddles closer. Warmth pours into Jimmy like drugs into a vein. He hadn't realized how much he's missed this kind of closeness. Robert's pressed against Jimmy's back, a solid wall of muscle and heat, and he sort of buries his face in Jimmy's hair. Jimmy feels something hard against the dip of his spine, and, oh, Jesus, that's his  _dick_.

Jimmy's insides clench, his chest going tight. He holds his breath and waits for Robert to do something about that erection—maybe nudge his hips forward or something—but Robert stays impossibly still. Is he  _ignoring_  it? Jimmy tries not to think about it or how big and insistent it is, but he can't because it's right there, pressed against his ass in a particularly meaningful way.

What the fuck is he supposed to do? How is Robert oblivious to this?

Jimmy realizes with a start what's happening here. Robert's hard enough to drill for diamonds, but he's ignoring his own need for Jimmy's sake. All he wants right now is to be close, the way Jimmy's craving that same connection. Taking comfort in the warmth and presence of another.

Jimmy closes his eyes, feels Robert breathing soft in his hair. A new fear rises in his stomach like bile. Instead of shying away from Charlotte's memory, he brought it forward and exposed it to the light. That's going to cost him.

Jimmy curls into Robert's embrace, trying to banish the ache from his thoughts. He isn't sure if having Robert here will help or make his pain worse. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays for a dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Robert wakes up in the dark, which isn't really anything surprising. He hasn't had a decent night's sleep in months, haunted by how his life would be had it not taken a sharp left instead of a right, dreams where the world is as it should be. Then there are the nightmares, the darkness in the back of his mind that seizes control and replays the loss of Karac like a macabre newsreel.

What does surprise him is that Jimmy is absent from the bed. The bathroom door is wide open, lights switched off, so Jimmy's probably not in there. His side of the bed is in disarray, as if he kicked his way free of the blankets. Robert runs his hand over the sheet. Cold. Jimmy's been gone for a while.

Maybe Scarlet needed him for something. Robert slides out of bed and peers down the hallway. All the lights are off. Jimmy might have gone to Scarlet's room to comfort her and fallen asleep there. Robert remembers doing the same with Karac, and, man, is that wound still raw.

Through the hallway railing, he can see a figure sitting at the kitchen table. Robert recognizes that dark hair and miserable posture. Carefully, he makes his way down the stairs. If Jimmy hears his footsteps, he doesn't show it. He's clutching a half-full glass in his hands, like it might protect him in some way.

The kitchen tile's cold under Robert's feet. "Nervous or can't sleep?"

Jimmy exhales a deep sigh but doesn't look at him. "Go back to bed," he says in a low voice.

Robert moves closer, close enough to notice that Jimmy's trembling. "Everything's alright, then?"

Jimmy digs a hand in his hair. The rise and fall of his chest is much too shallow. Robert isn't sure how to handle Jimmy's pain—Maureen had been all too eager to give him words he could use, and his own misery was internalized, shut away in some dark corner. But he knows if the situation was reversed, Jimmy wouldn't leave him this way without offering some form of comfort. He'd shown as much last night.

Robert takes the chair nearest to Jimmy and pulls it out from the table. He sits at Jimmy's side. Jimmy still refuses to look at him, and it's all Robert can do to resist the urge to pull him into his arms. "Talk to me, Pagey. Please." Robert takes comfort in knowing if his presence was unwanted Jimmy wouldn't have asked him to stay. "You can tell me anything."

Jimmy's fingers tighten in his hair, and he breathes in a shaky breath. "This was a mistake..." he says, his voice whisper-quiet.

Robert feels his heart crawl into his throat. "You mean... what? Letting me stay?"

"All of it. I can't do this." Jimmy looks at Robert, his beautiful face crumpled in agony, and Robert sees the ghosts swimming in his eyes.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to." Robert risks reaching out, lays a hand over Jimmy's own. Jimmy doesn't pull away. He looks too tired to even try. "Did you have a bad dream?" What else could have shaken him up this much?

Jimmy shuts his eyes and keeps them closed for a few seconds. He lifts the glass to his lips, takes a long drink. When Jimmy sets the glass down, Robert moves it away so he won't be tempted to reach for it again. They're going to talk about this, and he's not going to let Jimmy drown himself in his grief.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talking won't make it go away."

"It might make you feel better."

Jimmy faces him again, and his eyes are angrier this time. "Really? You think talking about how I'm a piece of shit for wanting to be with you will make me feel better?" He wipes a hand over his mouth, like that's more than he should have said.

"You're not a piece of shit."

"I'm  _replacing_  her," Jimmy growls into the cold, awful silence.

So that's what's upsetting him. Robert shakes his head and lays a hand on Jimmy's arm again. "No, you're not. You can't replace a person. Everyone is unique and special and..." This is a much easier conversation to have with a kindergartener. Jimmy looks like he's on the brink of rolling his eyes and maybe punching Robert in the face for handing him useless platitudes.

"Would you ever have another child then?" Jimmy sneers. "I mean, if you truly can't replace a person, you shouldn't feel guilty at all about having another go at fatherhood."

Robert feels the intended sting behind the words. "Well, yes, I would like to have another child someday. And I wouldn't feel guilty about it."

Jimmy stares at him like he's gone mad.

"Karac was wonderful," Robert says, choosing his words carefully. The past tense scrapes his throat as it comes out. "And I miss him deeply. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try again, maybe try to do it better this time around."

"You think it was your fault?"

"I know it was."

Jimmy goes quiet for a moment, then he says, "No child could ever be harmed by having you in his life."

Robert just squeezes Jimmy's hand. He isn't sure if he's allowed to hold on, but he can't get himself to let go. "I'll be happy to debate you on that in the morning." He rubs his thumb over the valley of Jimmy's knuckles. "Why do you think you're replacing her? Because you're with me?"

Jimmy manages a nod.

"So what's the alternative? To be alone forever?"

Jimmy doesn't answer, as though he's thinking about that.

"You're not doing anything wrong. No one's going to judge you for trying to be happy." Robert studies Jimmy's face, searching for clues to unravel his guilt. "Do you think you don't deserve to be happy? Because I know of at least one person who would vehemently disagree with that."

"Scarlet," Jimmy murmurs, pulling the thought from Robert's head.

"And myself, if my opinion counts for anything. Jonesy, too." Robert can see he's not getting through. He decides to change course. "Would it be better for you if I went home?"

Jimmy looks aggrieved at the suggestion. "I want you here—I want you with me—but it feels wrong."

"It's not wrong to want something. Or someone." Robert holds Jimmy's hand between his palms. "If she were in your position, would you want her to find someone else?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then why do you think she wouldn't want the same for you?"

"Because she told me," Jimmy says, sounding gutted. "I had a dream that she—She said I was betraying her and taking Scarlet away from her..."

"You can't put too much stock in dreams, you know. Well, those kind of dreams, I mean." Robert pushes a lock of curls behind his ear. "I get quite a lot of them myself, but you can't let them stop you from finding happiness. You only get one shot at this old life, so you ought to make the best of it."

Jimmy chews his bottom lip, and that really shouldn't be so attractive considering how much pain he's in. Fresh tears well in his eyes and spill down his cheeks. Robert wants to brush them away but isn't sure if that's crossing some sort of boundary.

"Scarlet's really happy that we're together," Robert says, his words measured and cautious, because this could be dangerous if he's not careful. "That doesn't usually happen with kids."

"She wasn't even a year old when it happened. She doesn't see it the way I do because she doesn't remember her mother."

"But she knows Mum loved her and didn't abandon her." Robert's seen the picture at Scarlet's bedside; Scarlet knows who her mother is, though she may not remember much. "In her own strange way, Scarlet sort of set us up together. She wants this for us—and I know you do too. How could something like that be wrong?"

Jimmy takes a long, deep breath, as though gathering the ability to speak. Robert stays quiet and waits, gives him all the time he needs to formulate his feelings into words. He knows this is twisting Jimmy up in all sorts of ways.

"I haven't wanted anything for myself in a long time. You make me feel half-way normal and good and—You make me happy," Jimmy says, like it's a secret he's ashamed of. "I can't remember the last time I was really, truly happy. I didn't think I could ever be happy again. When Charlotte died, it was like being tossed into the ocean during a storm. Part of me didn't want to keep my head above water at all. After I got out of the hospital, I had a prescription for painkillers. It would have been very easy to just... stop fighting and sink away. Scarlet was young enough that she wouldn't miss me, and Charlotte's parents would have been more than happy to raise her.

"But I didn't do it. Jonesy kept telling me things would get better. And I believed him for a bit, but after the storm was over, I washed up onshore, and things didn't get better. I thought about it more often, how I would do it, how I could arrange it so Scarlet wouldn't have to find me."

Robert  _cannot_  believe what he's hearing. The thought of Jimmy feeling so low and hopeless that he'd want to kill himself horrifies Robert. God, what if he'd followed through with it? Robert can't help but imagine it, because his brain is an asshole, and his stomach rolls with nausea.

"Pagey," Robert chokes out, the air stuck in his chest. If he had known Jimmy was hurting this much, he would have never judged him so harshly the first few times they met. Jesus, he'd ranted to Bonzo about how awful and irreponsible the guy was. "About a month or so after Karac... Bonzo took me to get a prescription for Valium. It's not a miracle cure, but it helps me on my bad days. Have you considered something like that?"

"I've tried it. I didn't like how it made me feel. I wasn't supposed to take them during the day, because it would impair my driving and make me tired. So what's the point then? It's not as if I'm only devastated at night."

"You don't have to go through this alone, you know. I'm here as long as you want me. You can tell me anything, and I won't judge you or push you away." Robert traces his thumb over the rise and fall of Jimmy's knuckles. "Because you make me feel better too."

Jimmy gazes at him in a mix of hope and disbelief. "Yeah?"

"Of course. You're not the only emotional wreck around here." A half-assed smile tugs at the corner of Robert's mouth.

Jimmy breathes out a faint chuckle. "Aren't we a couple of bloody downers?"

"Not many people are equipped to deal with our type of baggage. I'm glad I found you."

Jimmy watches him, and Robert feels oddly raw under the intensity of his stare. He reaches out, carefully gliding his palm over the curve of Robert's cheek. Robert holds his breath, his blood pumping feverishly. Jimmy's eyes are red and wet, but he's looking at Robert as though he's found something irreplaceable.

Robert opens his mouth to say something, and Jimmy eclipses his words with his lips. The kiss is soft heat and pressure, balanced so precariously between careful exploration and desire. Jimmy's mouth tastes like booze; Robert doesn't care. He lets Jimmy set the pace in slow, supple movements, content with the tender press of mouth and the careful dig of fingers against his jaw.

Jimmy breathes hot against his cheek and just sort of lingers there for a moment. His hand slips from Robert's face, pushing into his hair. Robert separates them, just enough so he can speak. Jimmy blinks with weary eyes, like he can't imagine why Robert would stop.

"You ought to get some sleep," Robert says. "It's getting late... or early. I'm not sure what time it is."

Jimmy's a weird mix of baffled and amused. "You'd rather sleep than kiss me? I must be out of practice."

"We'll have plenty of time for that later." Robert stands up, guiding Jimmy to his feet. "Besides, the bed's more comfortable anyway."

"Oh, so that's what you've got in mind, then?" Jimmy teases as Robert takes his hand and leads him up the staircase. "Well, it'll take more than a heartfelt conversation for me to put out."

"I'm sure we'll have more." Robert loves the little moments like these where Jimmy's sense of humor shines through the darkness encasing his heart.

Robert nudges Jimmy toward the bed, and Jimmy goes willingly, exhausted from tonight's emotional outpour. He crawls underneath the blankets and exhales a sound of relief when his head touches the pillow. His body seems to deflate into the bed, and Robert slips in beside him. Jimmy rolls onto his side and takes Robert into his arms. He hugs him close, tucking Robert snugly against him.

"You're warm," Jimmy murmurs into Robert's neck. Robert loves the wet heat of Jimmy's breath against his throat.

"You're drunk."

Jimmy chuckles a warm, hearty sound and relaxes into Robert, all the night's tension gone. Robert throws an arm over Jimmy's waist, nestles his face in Jimmy's hair. He thinks maybe he did something right.

* * *

Robert's still asleep when Jimmy wakes up in the morning, so he decides to head downstairs and get started on breakfast. It's the least he can do for the guy. His mind's still reeling from last night as new, horrifying thoughts spread out in his brain like the fracture of a fault line.

Fuck, Jimmy needs to stop thinking about this.

He's halfway through making the pancakes when Scarlet comes down the stairs. "What are you making?" she asks, approaching him in the kitchen and tugging on the leg of his pajamas.

"Pancakes." Pancakes are strictly a weekends-only breakfast food, because Jimmy likes to sleep in, and it's so much easier to pour a couple bowls of cereal before school. But he doesn't mind making something a little more complicated on the days he doesn't have to wake up early.

Jimmy pours her a glass of juice and gets her settled at the table. Once he's finished with the pancakes, he hears Robert say, "Oh, something smells good!"

"Mr. Plant!" Scarlet sort of shouts. "Why are you wearing Daddy's clothes? Did you sleep here?"

Robert ruffles the back of his wild hair. "I did. Your daddy was kind enough to let me stay the night."

"That's so cool! Nobody ever stays here with us," Scarlet says. "We're s'posed to have a room where people can stay, but Daddy just puts all his guitars there."

Robert chuckles. "I'd like to see that sometime," he says to Jimmy with a lilt of invitation. Jimmy grins and hands Robert a plate stacked with delicious pancakes. "Do these taste as good as they look?"

"Better," Jimmy says, and he doesn't care if that sounds more flirtatious than he intended.

They get settled in at the table. This should be weirder for Jimmy, seeing as it's the first time anyone besides himself and Scarlet has joined them for breakfast. It feels like the start of something new, something warm and real and brimming with potential. If Jimmy doesn't fuck it up. God, please don't let him fuck this up.

Jimmy sort of hates that he memorizes the noise Robert makes when he takes his first bite. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you," Robert says after he's swallowed. "These are amazing. How are you so good at this?"

Jimmy laughs a soft sound. "I can't take all the credit. Jonesy's wife is a cook, and she helped me out a lot when I first moved here. She gave me this book of recipe cards to use, and over the years I've sort of committed them to memory."

"Don't sell yourself short, Pagey," Robert says. "There are plenty of ways to mess up a recipe. Trust me, I've discovered most of them." He laughs, which makes Jimmy follow suit; Robert's got that kind of infectious laugh.

"You're not that bad."

"Maybe not  _now_."

"Mr. Plant," Scarlet joins in, interrupting their moment of banter. "Are you gonna see Karac today?"

Jimmy can only imagine how much that hurts Robert, like stabbing into an open wound. And it's worse now that Jimmy knows the truth, because Robert has to maintain the lie for Scarlet's sake, but now he's racked with even more guilt when he twists the truth into some salt-encrusted sailor's knot.

Robert smiles sadly and says, "Later today, yes."

"Will you let me meet him sometime?" Scarlet wheedles. "Please, please, please?"

"Maybe next time," Robert says, looking pained.

"Are you sure? 'Cause you always say that and it never happens."

"Scarlet, honey," Jimmy cuts in, "don't be rude. Mr. Plant doesn't have to bring Karac here if he doesn't want to." He almost hates himself for pushing last night, for insisting Robert introduce Karac to them as some sort of payback for Jimmy's hospitality. Why couldn't he have just left it alone?

Scarlet goes quiet under the scolding, and breakfast goes back to normal. But Jimmy can see the guilt weighing Robert down, the shamed look in his eyes, as though he's humiliated that Jimmy knows he's lying now.

After breakfast, Robert tells them he's got to get going and says his goodbyes to Scarlet. He heads upstairs to change back into his own clothes. "Scarlet, why don't you go up to your room?" Jimmy says as he's tending to the dishes. "I'll be up in a moment to talk to you."

She makes a worried, pouty face. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, love, you're not in trouble."

"Are you sure?"

Jimmy smiles. "Yes, I'm sure."

Scarlet climbs the stairs with the trudging gait of a prisoner on the way to the electric chair. Jimmy watches her disappear into her room and wonders how Charlotte would handle this.

Robert emerges a few moments later and joins Jimmy in the kitchen. "I don't know where your washroom is, so I just left the clothes on your bed. 'M sorry."

"It's alright," Jimmy says around a huff of amusement. "I'm sure I can handle it." He turns so he's facing Robert, wipes the last few soap suds off his hands with a towel. "Are you sure you can't stay?" He lays a hand on Robert's hip, and it feels like it belongs there.

For the briefest of seconds, Robert's gaze flicks down to where Jimmy's touching him. "I don't mean to run out on you both. But I don't want to overstay my welcome, and I've got errands to run anyway."

"I enjoyed having you here," Jimmy says quietly, like he's embarrassed about it.

Robert places his hand over Jimmy's own. "I ought to tell Scarlet the truth, huh?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "I'll do it. I'm her father. Don't worry about it."

Robert gives him a sweet, appreciative smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry I couldn't be honest with you two earlier."

"No need to be sorry." Jimmy slides his hand out from underneath Robert's. "Go on now, before I try to keep you here."

"I wouldn't mind that," Robert jokes, but he steals a quick kiss before Jimmy can protest. "I'll see you Monday then?"

Jimmy nods, his mouth curled into a smile from Robert's kiss. He watches Robert leave and wonders what Charlotte would think of them together.

There's no sense in putting this off any longer. Jimmy hopes Scarlet won't take this too hard. She handled Charlotte's absence much better than Jimmy expected her to, but she wasn't even a year old when she lost her mother. If Scarlet can cope with losing her mother, she can probably handle losing a friend she never really had to begin with.

Jimmy finds Scarlet in her bedroom, rearranging the plush animals on her bed. He gives her an optimistic smile and sits on the edge of the bed so he won't disrupt her work. Jimmy ponders how to approach the subject, decides to just dive right in. "The reason Mr. Plant won't be bringing Karac here is because he can't. Karac is in the same place your mum is."

Scarlet's brow creases in distress.

Jimmy pushes on. "When you were a little baby and your mummy died, I used to pretend she was away on a really long holiday, because it made me too sad to think of her as gone. And that's what Mr. Plant was doing: pretending. But eventually I had to accept that Mummy wasn't coming back, even if it makes me sad to think about that."

Scarlet nods, looking pained. After a quiet moment, she asks, "How did he die?"

"I don't know. Mr. Plant didn't tell me. But it's not polite to ask him. If he wants to tell us, he will."

"Is Mr. Plant mad at me 'cause I asked about his son?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "No, no, honey, he could never be mad at you. He loves you very much, just like I do. If it's okay with you, I want to spend more time with Mr. Plant so we can make each other happy."

Scarlet crawls over the bed to be closer to him. "You like him a lot, don't you?"

Jimmy nods, a little afraid of the honesty in his answer. "I do."

"Then it's okay."

He wraps an arm around her. "If me and Mr. Plant start dating, that means we won't always be able to take you with us. Sometimes grown-ups want to do things by themselves, but that doesn't mean we don't love you."

"I know," Scarlet says, and Jimmy's relieved the words don't have a sullen tone wrapped around them.

"If you feel like you're not getting enough attention, I want you to tell me, okay?" Because no matter what Jimmy wants, Scarlet comes first, always.

Scarlet nods, says, "Okay," and hugs him tightly.

Jimmy really hopes he doesn't fuck this up.

* * *

One peculiar morning, Jimmy wakes up with an erection. Not entirely uncommon, but he thinks it's pathetically optimistic at best. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed masturbating, but, regardless, his dick rises up each morning, as though today might be the day he finally gets some, or at least jerks off with any sort of enjoyment.

His options this morning are the same as always: masturbate or urinate. Jimmy chooses the path of least resistance (read: effort) and walks into the bathroom, his feet slapping against the linoleum.

When he's finished, he takes stock of himself in the mirror. His hair is a mess, and he just sort of stripped off his jeans and dropped into bed last night. Maybe a shower is in order.

The water's always good and hot in the morning, and Jimmy steps under the insulating spray while the mirror fogs up. Ever since Charlotte died, Jimmy views showers as an opportune time to break down and let a few tears escape. But he doesn't feel like crying now. He isn't sure how he feels, really. He wants to see Robert again, wants to try to make something out of the patchwork of feelings and desires they've got going here.

The way Robert looks at Jimmy sometimes... Jimmy wants to be the kind of man who can handle that. In his younger days, he would have sold his soul to have someone look at him that way. Then someone did, then she died, and Jimmy's here now facing down the very real possibility of having a family again.

He wonders if he'll ever have sex with Robert, if it will be any good. Does Jimmy even  _want_  to have sex with him? A quick assessment says, yeah, he does. It's new, uncharted territory, but it's probably not that difficult or different from what he's used to. So there's another penis in the room; Jimmy's got one too. He understands how they work on a level that a woman never could. Nothing beats personal experience.

Jimmy sort of hopes Robert's new to all of this too, so they can both engage in fruitless exploration of each other's bodies. Because Jimmy's kind of intimidated by the thought of sucking a dick or having one buried inside of him.

Intimidated, but not uninterested.

Jimmy's ashamed at his body's reaction to that. He's no stranger to morning erections, but those aren't the product of anything more than basic biology. This is... He willed this one into existence. This is entirely Jimmy's fault.

He turns into the spray of water and cranks the temperature down. Hot needles become cold pricks against his skin. Jimmy shivers, his arms wrapped around himself. He leans against the icy tile and glares at his dick as if it's the cause of all his problems. But even the chill of the water can't distract him from his thoughts, the way he wants Robert to kneel in front of him and swallow him whole.

Jimmy gulps, his cock throbbing at the mental image. His brain is the fucking worst. If he turns the water any colder he'll be an icicle. Clearly this boner isn't going away. He should just get rid of it manually and pretend this never happened. After five years, he's allowed one slip-up, right?

Jimmy wraps a hand around himself, and, God, it feels so fucking good to stroke and tug at his swollen dick. He grunts a noise of relief, his eyes squeezed shut. His body responds as it should, and as he's screaming internally at himself, his brain reminds him of all the normal things in his life he's missed out on since Charlotte died. He's allowed to jerk off. Hell, he's got a  _right_  to, but maybe he shouldn't be thinking about Robert while he does it.

Jimmy bites down on Robert's name in his throat, squeezing his dick and cupping and twisting the head. He thinks about Robert on his knees, moaning around him, and Jimmy feels the tug in his balls and belly, his body roaring to life at the dirtiest thoughts he's had in years.

His brain spins into another direction, then Jimmy's thinking about Robert pushing his legs apart and sliding in between his hips, and Jimmy finds himself guiding his own hand there to press his fingers over his opening. Jimmy whimpers a sound he's going to deny making, his brain screaming,  _oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you're crazy_ , as his fingers stroke and press until he's coming like it's been punched out of him. Jimmy chokes on Robert's name, striping his stomach as he rocks into his hand.

So, that happened. Jimmy tries to remember how to breathe, but any thoughts that pop into his head quickly fade when he remembers he just jerked off while thinking about Robert. Both of those realizations are equally traumatizing.

This shouldn't be a huge deal. It's not the orgasm itself that upsets him, but what it represents. He's sexually attracted to someone who isn't Charlotte, so much so that he wants things he shouldn't.

Jimmy is completely fucking screwed.


	8. Chapter 8

Robert floats the idea of Jimmy visiting his flat for another date, which Jimmy is totally down for, because last time wasn't exactly a raging success. Come to think of it, most of their dates haven't been too successful—their first not-date ended up with Robert kissing an unenthused Jimmy, their second try was decent but completely smothered under Robert's rejection at the end of their third date, and the fourth... yeah. It's almost as though a higher power is trying to interfere with their connection, but somehow their chemistry and interest in each other win out every time, prompting them to try again.

When Jimmy arrives on Saturday night, Robert's sort of battling with whatever dish he's trying to cook. Jimmy knows this because, as soon as he steps inside the flat, there's a distinct lack of delicious food smells wafting from the oven. There are, however, curious piles of potato pieces on a cutting board atop the kitchen counter.

"'M sorry," Robert apologizes. "I'm a bit behind on dinner tonight."

Jimmy can't help but be charmed by how Robert wants everything to be perfect for them. "Anything I can help with?"

"No, no, you're a guest. Just make yourself comfortable."

"It'll probably go faster if I help," Jimmy says, making his way to the kitchen. Robert doesn't try to stop him, just makes a whiny noise of protest. "Mm, I can't say no to potatoes. Blame my Irish roots." He moves to grab the knife lying on the cutting board, but Robert rushes over and stops him.

"Wait, wait, we can't have you messing around with pointy objects. Your hands are your livelihood." Robert carefully plucks the knife from Jimmy's grasp.

"I'm perfectly capable of chopping potatoes, Robert."

"Better safe than sorry, yeah?" Robert commandeers the chopping while Jimmy's relegated to mixing up the cream, milk, and flour.

They're reading the recipe out of a dog-eared cookbook on the countertop. "You don't cook much, do you?" Jimmy asks.

"Is it obvious?" Robert chuckles. "I never had much occasion, really. I lived with my folks until I was sixteen, then I stayed with some mates for a spell. After I married Maureen, she took over all the kitchen duties, probably because I was so, uh, unpracticed." He smiles at the memory.

"So you've never been on your own before?"

"Not really. I've always been somewhat of a nomad, moving around from place to place. My mates were very gracious, allowing me to stay with them. So, no, I've never had my own flat until now." Robert sighs, moves on to chopping up the garlic cloves. "After Karac, my mum gave me some cookbooks and a lecture about how I ought to learn to prepare food for myself. As you can see, I'm still getting the hang of it."

"All you need is practice."

"Mm, I'm not sure that's how the song goes, Pagey."

Jimmy snickers. "Love is an simpler concept to market."

Once the dish is in the oven, Robert and Jimmy end up on the couch, loose and relaxed and sort of leaning on each other. Robert's got a hand on Jimmy's waist, pushed underneath his shirt so it's skin on skin. The touching is kind of new, but Jimmy's rolling with it. Robert's mouth is warm against Jimmy's own, soft and careful as though they haven't done this before. Jimmy's acutely aware of Robert's lips opening around his own, the heat of his skin, the fingers of his other hand pressing against the spot where spine meets skull.

Kissing Robert is its own kind of sex, and Jimmy can't remember the last time he's been kissed with passion and depth and the right amount of tongue. When he really forces himself to think about it, Charlotte's libido had markedly depleted during the last year or so of their relationship. Jimmy always chalked that up to her pregnancy and the after-effects thereof, but, truthfully, he had let himself drift too. He loved her fiercely, of course, but there's no denying that over the years certain colors had faded and levels had fallen.

Robert's hand snakes along his torso, his thumb grazing over a nipple. Jimmy gasps, and Robert kisses along the line of his throat, tongue tracing the tendon there while his thumb tweaks and teases, and it's new enough for Jimmy to have a moment of "hey, weird," that reminds him he's being kissed and felt up by another dude. "How is this not weird for you?"

"Maybe it is, and I'm just a very good actor." Robert grins, and Jimmy feels the pow.

"You've done this before?"

"Not in the ways it really matters," Robert says, suddenly shy. He twists the silver bangle around his wrist. "You know, developing a connection, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, getting to know one another."

Jimmy perches his elbow on top of the couch, his head leaning on the heel of his hand as he studies Robert's face.

Robert draws a knee up to his chest and curls an arm around it, as though protecting himself from the weight of his words. "Before Maureen and I got serious, I spent a lot of time in, uh, seedy clubs, looking for"—he searches for a polite euphemism—"company."

Jimmy hears the layers underneath that sentence. "You had sex with strange men in clubs?"

Robert's face heats up, and his eyes dart away from Jimmy's own. "Not  _inside_  the club. That's unsanitary," he says with a scoff, like that's the part Jimmy might take issue with. "It wasn't—back then, you couldn't really—it's not like there was an easy way to meet people. Your friends couldn't just set you up, because your friends didn't know. No one knew."

Jimmy wonders why Robert's telling him all this.

"So, I learned how to read people," Robert continues, his voice sounding far away. "I could tell who was interested and who wasn't by how they looked at me or talked to me." He risks a glance at Jimmy. "That's why I thought you were... that night you invited me over..."

And Jimmy was. Robert's ability is dead on, it seems. Jimmy just nods, urging him to continue.

"But, of course, none of them wanted the same things I did. They were men, and I was just a wayward teenager." Robert shrugs like none of it matters.

"They used you." Jimmy doesn't realize he's said it out loud until Robert looks at him.

"I didn't see it that way. I was curious. And it's not like I had a friend I could experiment with." A weary smile forms at the corner of his mouth. "So, to answer your question, yes, this is weird to me, but not the way you'd think. I've had sex with men before, but this—the intimacy—well, maybe I'm just a good actor after all."

Jimmy smirks. "It doesn't seem all that different." He hoped he'd get some sort of pass here, that his guilt would subside in this particular instance. Because Robert's a man and Charlotte was a woman, and it seemed as though they were worlds apart. But Jimmy's made his home in Robert's heart, and apparently his guilt doesn't discriminate.

"How did you meet Maureen?" Jimmy asks.

"We'd known each other a while, but I... I wanted something serious. You know, a chance at a family. And I knew I wasn't going to get that screwing random blokes." Robert does that nervous twisty thing with his wristlet again. Jimmy reaches over and stops him, because, man, that's annoying.

"Her parents were very encouraging," Robert continues. "I s'pose they didn't think I was threatening. In many ways, she was my best friend, so it just sort of developed very naturally. We didn't have to worry about impressing each other, because we didn't see each other that way, but when once we did it was too late. We already knew each other's embarrassing secrets." He chuckles to himself, and Jimmy smiles. He wonders what Maureen is like, if she was good to Robert.

"Nothing about us has developed very naturally," Jimmy says sadly.

"But we keep trying. That's got to say something, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. We're not very fast learners."

Robert laughs a cute sound. "Or maybe we happen to really like each other."

Jimmy purses his lips. "Eh, you're alright."

Jimmy could listen to Robert's laughter all day. Robert runs his fingers along the length of Jimmy's left arm, playing with the short hairs on his wrist, tracing the inside of his elbow. Jimmy realizes in horror that the long white scar on his arm is visible; he'd rolled up his sleeves to assist with the cooking and never got to roll them back down. Robert's finger follows the scar, as though the touch might heal him. He doesn't say anything, but Jimmy feels the concern and curiosity in his gaze, burning through his skin.

"I broke my arm in the accident," Jimmy says by way of explanation. "I had to have surgery to stick the cracked ends of the bone back in." Robert gives him a pained sort of look. "Yeah, I'm glad I never saw it either."

Robert's still touching the scar in a way that's oddly intimate. "I know it doesn't really match up to your story, but when I was eighteen I got into a fight that knocked out one of my teeth and cracked a rib. Actually, calling it a fight implies I did something other than curl up in the fetal position while some huge guy attacked me."

"Bigger than you?" Jimmy sort of jokes. "What happened?"

"I went to someone's house party with Bonzo. I can't remember whose it was, but I didn't really know anyone there. Bonzo and I got separated, and I was talking to this guy who I thought was interested in me." Jimmy knows where this is heading. "Couples were making out everywhere, against the walls, out in the yard, in any room they could find. He asked me to meet him in the basement. So I did."

Jimmy shuts his eyes in pain.

"It was dark, so I couldn't see his fist coming. It just sort of banged into my teeth and knocked one loose. I was taller than him, but he looked like he lifted weights for a living, so I figured if I fought him I'd just get my arse kicked. Apparently that was going to happen anyway. So I just laid there and took it, let him kick me with his bloody steel-toed boots. I think I passed out for a tic, because when I woke up he was gone, and Bonzo was hovering over me, trying to stop the bleeding. He must have known what happened, because he was more pissed off than I'd ever seen him.

"He helped me up the stairs and told me to go to the car, but I watched him stalk across the party and find the guy. I wasn't expecting him to just punch him like that. I mean, Bonzo's always been a bit rough, y'know, but I couldn't wrap my head around him being so angry that someone hurt me. The bloke goes down hard, and Bonzo's standing over him and yelling at him, and he gives him about a second to answer before he's on him, just pummeling the guy with his fists. His face looked like it was covered in red paint. He probably lost more teeth than I did. I had to pull Bonzo off and drag him away."

"Wow," Jimmy says. "Bonzo reminds me of a couple guys I used to know back in the Yardbirds days." He chuckles to himself. "I can only hope Jonesy would do the same for me."

Robert laughs. "Jonesy doesn't look like he's ever thrown a punch in his life."

"Probably not."

After dinner—the tastiness of which Jimmy's taking partial credit for—rain hammers against the windows of Robert's flat, the low growl of thunder rumbling in the air. Robert steps away from washing dishes at the sink to peer out the shutters. "Oh no, it's really pissing rain out there."

Jimmy joins Robert at the window and catches a whiff of his shampoo. Outside, the rain's sheeting down in a way that makes it impossible to see anything sans the glare of headlights cruising down the street. Jimmy thinks about driving home in that and feels a pang of fear in his gut, the flicker of a memory he immediately shoves away.

"It might let up in a bit," Robert says, casually returning to the sink. "But if it doesn't, you're more than welcome to spend the night, y'know."

An entirely different fear strikes Jimmy in the chest. He goes quiet for a moment, listening to the steady roar against the window panes. "Yeah?"

"Of course. I haven't got a proper bed though, just a sleeper sofa. But I'll be happy to take the floor if you need your space."

Jimmy briefly ponders why Robert doesn't have a bed; he likes none of the answers. "Well, thank you. I might have to take you up on that," he says before a crack of thunder rolls overhead.

By the time they're finished cleaning the dishes, the rain's still battering down with flashes of lightning flickering in the sky, so it's decided that Jimmy's staying. When Jimmy calls Jonesy, Jonesy's way too happy to hear there's a chance Jimmy might get laid tonight.

"By all means, stay the night," he's saying, like he's Jimmy's dad, trying to be hip and lenient. "I'd hate to know you were out driving around in this anyway. And, y'know, thunderstorms are an aphrodisiac for some women. You can cuddle up, make her feel safe and all."

The idea of Robert feeling safe with Jimmy is kind of hilarious, considering Robert's six feet tall and considerably, uh, toned. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"You never know, mate."

"Trust me. Anyway, you sure you're okay with keeping Scarlet 'til the morning?"

"It's not a problem. She's definitely keeping my girls busy."

Jimmy knows "my girls" refers to Jonesy's daughters and Mo, which is officially the nerdiest, cutest thing Jimmy's ever heard. He never tires of how relentlessly dorky Jonesy is, but every now and then he wishes he had something like that for himself.

"Well, great then. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You're allowed to stay past curfew?" Robert teases as Jimmy hangs up the phone.

Jimmy smirks. "He's my Cool Dad. Gave me my first beer and everything."

"I s'pose that makes Bonzo my Cool Dad," Robert says, thoughtfully. "And he beat up a bloke for me, so Jonesy's got a long way to go if he wants to catch up."

Since they're about the same size, Robert fetches Jimmy some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Jimmy changes clothes and freshens up in the bathroom, acutely self-conscious that he's in someone else's home, someone who he's currently dating. There's probably a fair amount of expectation here from both of them, and as much as Jimmy wants to remain chaste tonight, a little voice in his head—growing louder by the moment—reminds him that it's okay to want this, it's okay to want things for himself. It's been five years—a respectable amount of time—and he's allowed to find someone else. For Scarlet's sake. For his own damn sake.

He knows that little voice in his head is Robert's, since lately Robert has been the primary person feeding him that tripe about moving on and letting himself feel good again. And it's not like Robert doesn't have a personal stake in all of this, but Jimmy thinks Robert has been patient and kind and not at all like someone who's just waiting for him to put out.

Robert's already got the bed pulled out and ready once Jimmy's nerves have settled. The lights have been switched off, the only illumination the hazy moonlight from outside and the occasional flash of lightning.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable," Robert says, taking his turn in the bathroom.

Jimmy crawls under the blankets and breathes in hints of Robert's shampoo and laundry soap on the sheets. The mix of scents makes him homesick for something he can't quite pinpoint. He listens to the downpour of rain against the windows, which slowly fades into background noise as his eyelids slide shut and the knots in his stomach fall apart.

The sound of Robert's voice snaps Jimmy awake. "You won't mind if we just go to bed, yeah?"

"'S fine," Jimmy murmurs, feeling a bit disoriented and sluggishly sleepy.

"Fantastic." Jimmy feels the mattress dip as Robert slides in alongside him. The bed isn't very large, so they're sort of squished against each other, but Jimmy likes the heat of Robert's body against him. He might cuddle into it; that might be a thing he does. Robert kisses Jimmy's cheek and wraps his arms around his waist. "G'nite, Pagey." He nuzzles his head into the hollow of Jimmy's neck, his breath warm and gentle.

Jimmy eases a hand into Robert's hair and holds him closer.

* * *

Robert wakes up with a faceful of Jimmy's hair. Jimmy's hand is splayed over Robert's chest, his breath warm and slow against Robert's neck. Robert doesn't want to wake him yet, not when he looks so peaceful lying here. Jimmy's face is serene and angelic, devoid of his usual creases of pain or worry.

Robert combs his fingers through Jimmy's mass of unruly dark hair. Jimmy scrunches his face a bit when a loose curl tickles his cheek, which makes him look even more adorable. It's in this moment, in the quiet, languid morning light, that Robert realizes he loves Jimmy.

It's almost unthinkable, because they haven't known each other that long—only a couple of months—but the weight of what they've shared has forged something profound and impermeable. It's the early throes of love where you can't get enough of each other, but Robert knows that will soon evolve into something deeper and richer.

Jimmy stirs awake, his eyes squinting from the light leaking through the curtains. His mouth pulls into a smile when he sees Robert. "Good morning."

"It certainly is."

Jimmy slept soundly last night, with no restless tossing and turning or disturbing nightmares. Okay, Robert doesn't know for certain what Jimmy dreamt, but if his dreams were unpleasant he didn't wake screaming or sobbing. So, that's a plus.

Jimmy's fingers spread out wider, as if he wants to touch all of Robert at once. "Were you watching me sleep?" he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Just a bit. You looked so much at peace. Like a work of art."

Jimmy does that scrunchy-face thing he does when he's trying not to laugh at something. "Do those lines ever work?"

"Well, I got you in my bed now, don't I?"

"I should have known that's all you wanted from me," he jokes, curling his hand in the front of Robert's t-shirt.

"Hypocrite. You got me in bed first." Jimmy's mouth is so close Robert can't look at anything else, so he pushes his fingers through Jimmy's hair and brings their mouths together. Jimmy hums under the kiss before his arms wrap their way around Robert's neck.

Robert sweeps kisses along the line of Jimmy's jaw, suckling at a spot beneath his ear that makes him groan a contented noise into the space between them. His lips brush their way down Jimmy's neck, tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat. Robert hears Jimmy's breathing hitch, feels the way his fingers tighten over his skin. He hesitates, waiting for Jimmy to push him away or stop what they're doing, but it doesn't come.

Robert's careful, though, because he doesn't want to push for anything too quickly. This is all new territory for Jimmy, and it would be very much like Robert to fuck this up in a spectacular way. But Jimmy isn't giving him any signs of hesitation. His breath's coming quicker as he pulls Robert's mouth to his own. His hands are wide and strong, and there's a neediness there, as though Robert is some new and confusing thing that Jimmy wants but doesn't know how to ask for.

Robert slips his hands underneath the hem of Jimmy's t-shirt, fingers brushing over the lattice of his ribs. Jimmy gasps around Robert's mouth and doesn't shy away. He arches into the touch, his spine lifting off of the mattress. "Can I—can I take this off?" Robert asks, raising the fabric of Jimmy's shirt.

"Yeah—yeah—it's okay," Jimmy huffs out, so Robert pulls the shirt over Jimmy's head and bites at his exposed collarbone. Jimmy drops his head against the pillow and swears as his mouth falls open. It's the most beautiful sound Robert's ever heard, and he wants to hear it again. He opens his mouth around a nipple, his teeth grazing the bud, and Jimmy groans, thready and rough, through a shaky breath.

"Tell me if you don't want this," Robert breathes against his chest. Jimmy squirms, like he wants the heat of Robert's mouth elsewhere. Robert can't even think about that right now, so he takes Jimmy's other nipple between his lips, pressing down with the flat of his tongue. Jimmy pushes into it, his breath quick and sharp and desperate.

Jimmy's legs tangle with Robert's own and bring him forward, just enough to scoot Robert's knee between his spread thighs. Robert catches Jimmy's mouth again, and when he breaks away Jimmy's eyes are darker, more intense. Jimmy rocks his hips into the hard muscle of Robert's thigh, and he's warm, hard, and just as desperate. Robert's brain sputters and shorts out for a moment, because Jimmy makes a wrecked noise in his throat when he ruts against him. His fingers dig in quick and sharp over Robert's back.

Robert slides a hand over the smooth curve where Jimmy's hip meets thigh. Even through his clothes, he's impossibly hot, and Robert can almost feel his skin jumping under the touch. Jimmy pushes forward again, makes a noise that twists Robert's insides into an aroused knot. Ignoring the sudden greed of his own body, he lays a hand over the swell of Jimmy's dick and squeezes with the slightest pressure. Jimmy groans, licks his lips, and just stares at the way Robert's touching him.

"Do you want me to... I could do that for you." It's the least sexy invitation ever, but Jimmy lifts his hips into Robert's hand in silent approval. He clutches at the front of Robert's shirt and pulls him down, opens Robert's mouth with clumsy kisses. Jimmy's rocking into his hand, pushing into the heat of his palm, and for a moment the only sounds are Jimmy's frantic breathing, the swish and whisper of the sheets, and the creak of the mattress springs.

Then Jimmy's voice turns rough and broken, and he shakes out something that sounds like surrender as his cock twitches beneath Robert's palm. Robert kisses the moans and sighs out of Jimmy's mouth, squeezes him tenderly through the comedown, but Jimmy doesn't respond the way Robert thought he might. He's gone very still, receiving affection but giving none of his own. He's not even touching Robert anymore, his hands sliding from Robert's shoulders and curling in the blankets, which is a clue Jimmy's not as blissed-out as he ought to be.

Robert untangles them and sits back on his feet, which does nothing good for his poor, neglected dick. But this isn't about him, so he ignores his own solid line of need. Jimmy moves to the edge of the bed, his feet slung over the side and his shirt fisted in his hands, like he isn't sure if he wants to leave or not.

"It's okay," Robert starts, uncertain. "I'd probably do the same if I hadn't been with someone in so long." He can see the protruding notches of Jimmy's spine, skin stretched too thin over bone.

Jimmy's shoulders tense up, like Robert's words have made everything worse. He works his t-shirt back on and claws a hand through his hair, staring at the carpet.

Robert sits beside him and risks a hand on his shoulder. Jimmy flinches, as though his first instinct is to jerk away from the touch. "I don't care if you last ten seconds or ten hours. I just like being with you."

"It's not that," Jimmy finally says after what feels like an eternity. He doesn't offer anything else, just tightens his hand in his hair, but he doesn't need to, because Robert gets it now: he feels  _guilty_.

"Oh..." Robert's hand slides away and rests in his lap. He doesn't think he should touch Jimmy, knowing his lust is half the reason Jimmy's sitting here looking so miserable. No one should feel this horrible and confused after an orgasm.

"Why didn't you say something earlier? If you weren't ready—I wouldn't have—I thought you wanted—" Robert stops the awkward flow of words from leaving his mouth. It sounds like he's blaming Jimmy, which is the worst fucking thing he could do right now.

"I did. I do," Jimmy admits, and Robert didn't realize how much he needed to hear that until it's out there. "I just—give me a moment, please. I need to be alone."

Robert nods, words pulled up in his throat. "Sure, whatever you need." He hates to leave Jimmy alone, because he can never be sure if Jimmy's going to feel like he's being abandoned. Even though he asked, it still feels wrong. But Robert lets Jimmy stand up and move for the balcony doors. "Will you be hungry when you come back in?" The fact that Jimmy didn't just leave when everything went to hell tells Robert he's staying.

Jimmy shrugs, but Robert's taking that as a yes. He departs from the room and steps out onto the balcony. Jimmy needs a few minutes to collect himself before Robert can even attempt to talk to him, so making breakfast will be a good way to pass the time.

Jimmy comes back inside around the time the food's ready. He takes tentative steps toward the table, as though he isn't sure he belongs here anymore. Maybe Jimmy thinks he's broken something between them, that Robert's going to tire of his erratic emotions and find someone without quite as much baggage.

"You're not going to scare me off, Pagey," Robert says, because he thinks Jimmy needs to hear that. "I'm here until you order me away."

Jimmy pulls out a chair and sits at the table. He sits low and sprawled, arms hugging his waist as though he's cold. He's wearing one of Robert's t-shirts, and it hangs in a way that's unfairly arousing. "I'm truly sorry that I keep hurting you like this. But none of it—none of it—is your fault, Robert. When I push you away... it's because I'm afraid of wanting someone who isn't Charlotte. It's got nothing to do with you."

Jimmy lifts his head and looks at Robert. When he shakes the hair out of his face, his eyes are wet and red. "Honestly, you haven't done anything wrong. You've been patient and understanding and—really, you deserve some sort of award. There ought to be a medal in your honor."

"You've done the same for me," Robert says simply, setting the food on the table. Jimmy just stares, like he's not sure what he's supposed to do with it. Robert pushes one of the plates toward him. "It might make you feel better."

Jimmy nods in grudging assent and begins to eat.

"You know, when we ask each other to stay, it doesn't have to mean anything more than that," Robert tells him.

Another nod. "I know. But I do want it. And I did. Maybe I can get used to it."

Robert wants to say Jimmy shouldn't feel guilty about wanting things, but it's not like Jimmy doesn't know that. Part of the reason Jimmy's so upset about it all is because he knows it's irrational.

But Robert's choosing to focus on the fact that Jimmy wants to try again at some point in the future. Because that's kind of huge.

"If I have sex with you, it means she's really truly gone," Jimmy says with absolutely no preamble. He's pushing the food around on his plate with his fork. "And I already know she is. It's been five years; it's pretty obvious she's not coming back," he says, a humorless chuckle wrapped around the words. "It's just... this is one more step further away from her."

Robert stays quiet, unsure of what to say. He doesn't think Jimmy wants to engage in a dialogue here, just spill his feelings so Robert knows why he suddenly puts his walls up.

"I want us to be happy together, but I don't. Because if we are, it's like we're reaping the benefits of Charlotte's death." Jimmy's voice trembles ever so slightly. "If she hadn't died, you and I would've never met."

"Maybe, maybe not. But an emerging sex drive is a good thing though," Robert says carefully. "It means you want to start doing things again."

"It means I'm fucked," Jimmy says, decisive.

Robert thinks about that. "In a manner of speaking."

Jimmy manages a huff of laughter and a sliver of a smile. Robert's calling it progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter, there are a few innocuous lines that have a lot more meaning once we get into the second half of the story :) speculate away!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will now be twice a week! :D There's no need for me to drag out updates when the story's, like, 90% finished anyway. This chapter is long, but it's one of my personal favorites (if you were waiting for this to get into smut territory, I hope it was worth the wait!), and also contains my favorite tone whiplash moment in the entire story.

Jimmy doesn't see Robert until Monday, which is good, because he's still carrying the awkwardness of Saturday morning as though it's permanently tattooed on his face. Jimmy hasn't wanted things for himself in years, and taking steps toward those things feels like trudging through acid-infused molasses—slow and painful.

After school, he's relieved to see Robert smiling at him as though Jimmy's presence is all he needs in his life.

"Hi, Daddy," Scarlet says, engrossed in coloring some sort of dinosaur drawing.

"Hey, sweetheart." Jimmy kneels beside her for a closer look. "That's very pretty." Scarlet's drawn a frilly pink bow on the dinosaur's head.

"He's a ballerina," Scarlet supplies.

"And a very good one." He can feel Robert watching him, so he stands up and moves closer to where Robert's loitering by the bookshelves. "She didn't give you too much trouble today?" Jimmy asks, because he's not above using his daughter as an opening gambit.

Robert's mouth does an adorable little curl of a smile. "Of course not. Her father, however..."

Jimmy sighs, pretending to be put out. "What have I done now?"

Robert glances around the mostly-empty room before bringing his mouth closer to Jimmy's ear. "Now I know what you look and sound like when you come. How am I supposed to function normally after that?"

"You're awful," Jimmy says with a smirk.

"But not so awful we can't have dinner tomorrow night? If—if you're not busy, that is."

"So, my turn to host then?" Jimmy asks, because he's never too busy for Robert.

Robert hesitates. "Well, actually, I thought it'd be a nice change of pace to go out sometime."

"Is Casa Jimbo not exciting enough for you?" Jimmy teases, feigning offense at Robert's proposed change of venue.

"It's not that. I just think it'd be nice to go someplace instead of staying in all the time, you know?" Jimmy doesn't answer for a moment, and Robert takes the opportunity to scope out the reason behind his indecision. "We can go somewhere 'round my neighborhood, if you're worried about seeing someone you know."

Oh, wonderful, Robert thinks Jimmy's ashamed of him. "No, no, that's not—that's not an issue. I just... It's been a while," he says, hoping Robert hears the subtext behind the words.

Robert nods thoughtfully before another parent walking into the classroom draws his attention. "Just a moment," he murmurs to Jimmy. Robert rushes off to talk to the mother who just walked in.

Scarlet's still diligently coloring at the desk, so Jimmy decides to bother her, because he's her father and he can totally do that. "How would you feel about having another sleepover at Uncle Jonesy's tomorrow night?"

Scarlet drops her crayon and gasps. "Do you have a date with—"

"Indoor voice, indoor voice!" Jimmy reminds her in a panicked, hushed whisper, because the last thing he needs is for everyone in the building to know he's dating Mr. Plant.

"Oops." Scarlet covers her mouth.

"Besides, that's a secret, remember?"

She nods.

"So would you be upset if you had to spend the night at Uncle Jonesy's tomorrow?" Jimmy asks. If Scarlet's bothered by the constant handing-off, he wants her to be honest about it. Robert wouldn't mind another evening at Casa Jimbo—he's totally calling it that now—if it meant Scarlet would be happy.

Scarlet shrugs. "No, I like it there. I help Aunt Mo bake cakes and biscuits."

Jimmy can't argue with that. "As long as you're happy."

Robert joins them once the room is theirs again. "Are we on for Tuesday night then?" Jimmy's face must do something awful, because Robert says, "Not to pressure you, of course. I'd just like to know so I can plan accordingly." Robert's nervous little smile makes Jimmy's heart pound.

Jimmy's not committing to this entirely, but he wants to know exactly what he's getting into. "Where would you like to go—if I say yes, that is."

Robert looks stunned, as though he didn't plan anything beyond the simple gesture of asking Jimmy out. "Oh, um, well, I suppose there's no point in going out for dinner when you cook as good as you do."

Jimmy smirks, makes a mental note to thank Mo for her tried and true collection of recipes. "I can't cook everything, you know."

Robert seems to be struggling for ideas. "So dinner is okay? Or would you prefer something else?"

Jimmy shrugs his shoulders. "I don't really—" He stops himself, because he's pretty sure saying "I don't really care" would make him sound like an asshole. "I don't have a preference."

"It'll be a surprise, then," Robert says, and that doesn't sound foreboding at all.

* * *

Jimmy's staring into his wardrobe on Tuesday evening, wondering what the hell he's supposed to wear tonight. He hasn't been on a date since Charlotte was alive. That's five years the dating rulebook could have changed without Jimmy's knowledge. Then again, this could be Robert's first date in quite a while too.

It doesn't have to be awkward. Just because they've never gone out in an official, date-like way doesn't mean anything. They've spent time together at each other's houses, and they like each other. That's not going to stop if Jimmy wears something awful or acts too much like himself.

He tries to take comfort in the fact that Robert's probably nervous too. He's not sure what tonight's dress code is—Robert would have called if it were formal—so Jimmy digs through his clothes and finds a pair of black jeans and a decent-enough shirt. It's a little frilly for his tastes, but Charlotte liked the red embroidery along the sleeves and the flower—Jimmy claims male ignorance of all things petaled—crawling up the front. Whatever, it doesn't look like he slept it in, so it works.

Jimmy's already dropped Scarlet off at Jonesy's, so he's just got to wait and hyperventilate himself unconscious until Robert arrives. He calms his nerves with a shot or two of Jack. It's normal to be nervous before a first date, right? This could mean he's either not remotely ready to start dating, or he's as ready as he'll ever be.

Jimmy's swallowing down his third shot and wondering if it's too late to back out of this when the doorbell rings. The whisky sort of sputters in his throat on the way down as his head jerks around to check the clock. Who the fuck shows up  _early_? Robert bloody Plant, that's who. Jimmy grumbles something angry under his breath and tries to keep his panic under control.

Jimmy opens the door and sees Robert standing there in jeans and a shirt with buttons. His eyes are immediately drawn to the lively red of his patterned shirt and the canvas of his sneakers. My God, he's color-coordinated.

"Hi."

Robert smiles; Jimmy feels the pow in his chest. "Hi." His gaze drops to Jimmy's shirt. "I like your... flower."

Jimmy opens his mouth to say something gracious in turn, but his brain screeches to a halt when he notices the pattern on Robert's shirt is composed of flowers. Why is this happening?

"I'm going to change," Jimmy says flatly, turning and striding for the staircase.

Robert follows him inside. "Was I not supposed to point that out? It's a very manly flower."

"I draw the line at matching motifs, Robert," Jimmy says, climbing the stairs.

"'S a good line to draw."

Jimmy's unbuttoning and shedding his shirt by the time he gets into the bedroom. He hears a choked noise from behind him. Jimmy glances over his shoulder to see Robert blushing almost the same color as his shirt. "See something you like?"

Robert goes impossibly redder, rubbing the back of his neck underneath his mass of hair. "I—I should step out. I probably shouldn't have followed you in here, but I thought I could talk you out of it, at least until you started... taking your clothes off."

"That makes it sound dirty," Jimmy says, searching through his closet for something more understated with absolutely no flowers. "Although Charlotte always said I had a dancer's body—"

"I'll just wait outside," Robert announces loudly, and Jimmy laughs to himself, because Robert's voice probably hit a whole new register there. At least he's nervous too. That should make things go a little smoother.

Jimmy finds a black shirt he doesn't feel too ridiculous wearing. There's some sort of pattern on the arms and shoulders, but there are no flowers, so Jimmy's past the point of caring. He buttons up and fixes the collar before leaving the room.

Robert's standing outside the bedroom, doing his damndest to look casual. "You're ready?"

"I suppose I am."

"Should we go then?"

Robert's truck is parked outside along the curb, and Jimmy realizes he's never actually seen Robert's mode of transportation before. It's a weathered black color with rounded fenders and a bulbous cab.

Jimmy sinks into the passenger seat. The interior smells like a mix of cigarette smoke, marijuana, and patchouli. He chuckles and mimes smoking a joint, which makes Robert do an adorable scrunchy thing with his face that Jimmy tries not to laugh at. "It's not mine," Robert protests, like there's any way Jimmy's going to buy that. There are some things that, for whatever reason, you can't deny without sounding like a liar. "The truck. I mean, it didn't used to be. My mate Bonzo fixes old cars in his garage."

Jimmy can't help it; he laughs. "You know I was in a rock band, right? I've been in vans and buses that smell far worse than this, and I'm no stranger to, uh, recreational substances."

Robert pouts as though he's been caught doing something terrible. "It's not my car," he murmurs, turning over the ignition.

"That's your story, and you're sticking to it, huh?"

"Smart-arse," Robert grumbles, but there's no heat to it.

* * *

Robert takes them to dinner at a restaurant near his flat, because he's uncreative and basic. No, that's not fair; he's just as nervous as Jimmy. If he took them to see a movie, he would've risked Jimmy hating the film and judging Robert's taste in cinema. But everyone likes food, right?

Jimmy had exactly zero suggestions for tonight's date, so he's not allowed to bitch about it. He takes a few bites of his food and slowly sips at his wine so he doesn't get too drunk too quickly. "This is a decent area. How'd you end up living in such a shithole?" Okay, maybe he's a little drunk. It's not his fault the wine arrived before the complementary bread basket.

If Robert's offended by Jimmy's lack of a verbal filter tonight, he's not showing it. "It's tragic, isn't it? But the rent was cheap, and I didn't have a lot of money. And I kind of..." He bites his lip and glances off, as if unwilling to say more.

"Hm? Come on, tell me. I won't judge. I might even promise not to laugh."

"Well, it's not so much funny as it is depressing."

"I'm the fuckin' big man of depressing. Lay it on me." Jimmy leans forward a bit, like this might help him better absorb the information.

Robert concedes with a short sigh. "I didn't think I deserved to live someplace nice and fancy after what I'd done."

"Robert, how could it have been your fault?" Robert doesn't say anything, and Jimmy feels the need to press it, to reveal more clues and solve the mystery. "Was it—was it an accident?" he asks in a near-whisper. God, what the fuck will he do if he's right?

But Robert shakes his head. "No, it's nothing like that." He lifts his gaze and meets Jimmy's eyes, looking so pained Jimmy almost reaches across the table and runs his fingers down the side of his face. "I had an affair."

Jimmy blinks, stunned. "What?"

"Remember how I told you about what I used to do before I started dating Maureen?"

Jimmy nods.

"Well, toward the end, Maureen and I sort of... drifted. We stopped having sex, and I know that's typical for married couples, especially after having kids, but it wasn't like that. Maybe for her it was, but not for me. I still wanted things, just... not from her. Or any other woman. Maureen decided to stay with her sister for a week or so. She took Karac with her." Jimmy's face must do something worrisome, because Robert adds, "She didn't forbid me from seeing him, of course. It was just... she needed some time away.

"Anyway, I, um, I started going back to the clubs late at night. I made sure they were far enough away that no one would recognize me. I dunno, I s'pose I just missed being with a man." He shuts his eyes as if in pain. "I know, it sounds awful, and I'm not proud of it, but that's the way it is."

Jimmy doesn't flinch away from the pain on Robert's face. He takes the full brunt of it and lets it sting him.

"Then a little while after Maureen came back..." Robert doesn't need to finish that sentence. "She was so willing to blame herself for what happened. I couldn't stand to see her hurting like that. So I told her the truth. She... she couldn't handle it. But at least she didn't blame herself anymore."

Jimmy breathes out a deep sigh. Jesus.

"You wanted to know," Robert says with a meager shrug.

Yeah, Jimmy kind of walked right into this one. "This is some serious dinner conversation," he says, attempting to lighten the mood.

Robert's mouth does that half-smile thing. "Not bad for two shaky, broken people, huh?"

Jimmy smiles back, surprised at how easy everything is with Robert. Even when it's awkward, it's the good, comfortable kind he can handle. "How did you manage to get back to work so soon?"

"I was a complete mess for about a month. I sort of moved in with Bonzo. Drove him and his wife crazy." Robert chuckles. "They weren't sure about that at first, because they've got a son about Karac's age. They weren't sure if I could handle it."

"But you did."

"I needed distractions. And Bonzo wouldn't let me sit around and mope all day. He'd force me to go out and do something, even if it was just lying out in the front yard and getting stoned. But I let myself feel the pain, made room for it, and tried to push past it."

"Getting stoned sounds so good right now," Jimmy says, because the wine has assumed command of the valve that keeps his inappropriate thoughts under lock and key.

Robert laughs, musical and completely unrestrained. "It does, doesn't it? Does that make me sound like less of a professional?"

"I won't judge if you don't."

When they get into the truck again, Jimmy realizes they're taking a familiar route. "Back to your place already? What kind of guy do you think I am, and how could you tell so fast?"

"I just need to pick something up. Then we'll be on our way."

"Where are we going?"

"Can't you respect the surprise?"

"I'm not very fond of surprises," Jimmy says, but he's kind of curious to see what Robert's got in mind for them.

"You need some excitement in your life, Pagey."

"Where would I find the energy? Grief and self-pity are exhausting."

"You're the most depressing person I've ever met."

Jimmy smirks. "Aren't we a pair?"

The sky's gone dark and twinkling with stars when Robert pulls in front of his flat. He finagles with his keys, detaching one of them from the ring. "I'll just be a moment."

"You know, if you've got some sort of phobia of public loos, you can tell me," Jimmy teases.

"It's not that," Robert says with a smile. "Just sit tight."

Jimmy watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Robert's shapely ass packed into too-tight jeans. That, Jimmy thinks, is an ass to grow old with. He wants to take that ass home to meet his parents.

He finds himself imagining the noises Robert might make in bed, if he'd be loud and unrestrained in his lovemaking. Jimmy wonders what it might feel like to be buried balls-deep inside of Robert, forcing smothered noises out of him with each shove.

Jimmy's heartbeat accelerates in his chest, his dick throbbing. He reaches out and switches on the radio to distract himself from his lecherous brain. But Jimmy finds his thoughts don't fade into the hum of the music. He wants to touch Robert, wants to hear him moan and cry out, wants to taste him and writhe underneath him.

Jimmy thinks about giving his dick a quick, indulgent squeeze, but he doesn't know where they're going and really doesn't want to be caught in public with a boner that won't quit. So he ignores the pulse of want and picks at some of the cracking leather on the edge of the seat.

The front door opens, and Robert emerges. He locks the door and sort of jogs to the truck, his mass of curls swaying as he moves. Jimmy groans a needy sound in his throat and squeezes his thighs together.

Robert slides into the driver's seat, hooks his key back onto the ring. Jimmy looks him over. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Whatever you went in there to get."

Robert gives him a teasing smile. "You'll see."

"It's not some poison you're going to innocuously slip into my next drink, are you?"

"You'll see," Robert says again, and Jimmy figures he's not getting any decisive answers for now.

Robert heads north and eventually pulls onto a long stretch of country road. The land out here is still relatively undeveloped compared to the bustling epicenter of London. Robert guns the engine, and the car zooms down the road, endless fields of green whipping by the passenger window.

"What's the hurry?" Jimmy asks.

"No hurry."

That's not a particularly comforting answer. "You're, uh, driving pretty fast," Jimmy says, because maybe Robert doesn't know the speedometer's groaning underneath the weight of his lead foot.

"Don't worry about it, Pagey."

Jimmy scoffs. "Yeah, that's—that ship has sailed."

Robert accelerates to pass another car on the skinny, two-lane road. Jimmy squeezes his eyes shut, which is a really bad idea. All he can see behind his eyelids are the battered remains of the wreck that changed everything. He blinks his eyes open. The countryside flies by at a dizzying speed, cloaked in darkness. The only illumination is supplied by the moon and the truck's headlights.

Jimmy never really pegged Robert for the daredevil type, but, then again, Robert's got nothing to lose, doesn't he? He could totally wrap this thing around a tree or crash headfirst into an oncoming vehicle, which really isn't helping Jimmy keep his panic under control.

Up ahead, the road turns, and Robert accelerates into the curve. Jimmy's arm shoots out to brace himself against the door. "Bloody hell, what are you doing?" This is it. This is the night he dies.

"Oh, relax, Pagey, I know exactly what I'm doing," Robert says in a tone he thinks is supposed to be reassuring. The car screams down the road like a bullet, the engine's roar drowned out by the way Jimmy's heartbeat hammers in his ears.

"Which is what, exactly? Because if you're trying to kill us I'd say you're succeeding!" Jimmy's ignoring the way his voice sort of cracks when he's terrified.

"But I thought you wanted to die," Robert says, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Of course not! I have a daughter, you fucking—" Jimmy pauses mid-tirade as the booze-soaked cogs in his head finally start spinning. This speed demon stunt was just a dirty trick make Jimmy feel like a douchebag.

Jimmy folds his arms over his chest and slumps in the passenger seat. "That is completely unfair and coerced. Do you really think I'd want to die the same way Charlotte did?" He snorts a derisive noise. "Besides, I'm not the kind of person who'd want to take someone else out with me."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

Jimmy rolls his eyes, but he's secretly relieved when Robert decelerates, and the speedometer needle hovers around a normal speed.

"We don't pray in foxholes because we're ready to meet our maker, Pagey."

"I can't believe I was actually thinking about having sex with you tonight," Jimmy says, like he's ashamed of his entire existence.

That throws Robert off of his game. "Really? You were—"

"The moment's passed now," Jimmy says, "after that ridiculous stunt. I hope it was worth it." He's joking—mostly—but he doesn't want Robert thinking he can pull any bullshit stunt and get off scot-free. Jimmy has to set some boundaries.

After what seems like an eternity, they pull off the road and duck into a secluded area surrounded by an ocean of trees bowing on either side of them. From what Jimmy can see through the limited scope of the headlights, it looks like a park. Up ahead, a tranquil pond gurgles, moonlight shimmering like diamonds atop the surface of the water.

Robert parks a safe distance away from the water's edge. Something stirs inside of Jimmy, and he doesn't think it's because of the magnificent view. "You seem to know your way around."

"'Swhat happens when you drive around a lot." Robert stares out at the water. "After Karac... I'd get on the road and just drive, stopping only for fuel and food, just sort of marveling at the beauty of everything. My plan was to drive as far as I could, find a nice little house someplace in Wales, maybe, and start over. In a new place, no one would know what happened to me, so no one would pity me. I'd get a job as a teacher, or maybe try something new and work at a pub. I'd make friends with the locals, adopt myself a dog so I wouldn't be so lonely 'round the house. Maybe I'd meet a woman there, or the right sort of man, and we would love each other deeply, start a family."

Jimmy listens intently, realizing just how much thought Robert's given this.

"I almost did it, too. I got all the way to a little cottage in Machynlleth, but of course my dumb arse had to call Bonzo and say goodbye." A small smirk tugs at the corner of Robert's mouth. "Hearing his voice made me realize I wasn't as ready to pack up and start over as I thought I was. And he wasn't too thrilled to hear I was all the way in Wales without even telling him where I was going." He gazes out the window in a far-off sort of way. "The thing about problems is they have a way of finding you no matter how far or how long you run. You can't run forever, y'know?"

Robert looks at Jimmy, and Jimmy feels raw and blistered, as though Robert's gaze has ignited his skin.

"Alright, enough of that," Robert chirps, and Jimmy has no idea how Robert can flit between moods like that. Maybe it's the Valium.

Robert reaches over to Jimmy's side of the car and pops open the glove compartment. He digs around, finds what he's looking for, and shuts the drawer. Jimmy catches a glimpse of a matchbook in Robert's hand. Jimmy almost asks what Robert's got in mind, but Robert stuffs his other hand into the front pocket of his jeans, his hips lifting off of the seat in a way that's almost perverse.

Jimmy's brain snags on that particular detail, then Robert produces two slightly bent but wholly intact joints, offering one to Jimmy.

Jimmy blinks in stunned silence. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely."

"Like, zoinks, Scoob," Jimmy says, pinching the blunt between his fingers.

Robert lights his own, sucking so hard Jimmy hears the crinkle of the paper. He exhales a wispy cloud of smoke that fills the car. Jimmy doesn't need any more convincing; he's still sort of panicky over Robert's sudden love affair with the gas pedal, so he holds his joint out for a light.

They sit there together for a few silent minutes, just enjoying each other's company and the smoky-sweet scent billowing in the air. Jimmy closes his eyes, holds the smoke in his lungs for a handful of seconds before breathing out. He does this until he disappears in the light-headed euphoria.

Robert reaches over and finds Jimmy's free hand resting lazily on his thigh. His fingers weave through Jimmy's own, his thumb tracing over the back of Jimmy's hand. Jimmy's skin throbs like a sunburn where Robert touches him.

"I'm sorry I almost killed us," Robert says, as though he's not being hyperbolous at all. The graveness of his voice makes Jimmy laugh, probably harder than he ought to, but he's blaming the weed for that.

"We're alive, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we are," Robert says. He blows out a perfect ring, then blows a jet of smoke through it. "I realize I sort of monopolized our conversation tonight in a depressing sort of way."

Jimmy shrugs. "Depressing seems to work for us."

"What does that say about you and me?"

"That you lost your son and I lost my wife, and none of it should have happened, but it did, and it made us who we are now." Jimmy takes a long pull off the joint and stares out at the stillness of the pond. "I think of Charlotte as my wife, but we were never married. I proposed to her a few days before she died. I spent an embarrassing amount of time finding the perfect ring. But I found a collector of 15th through 17th century artifacts, and she had an impressive stock of posy rings. One of them, on the inside had an inscription: 'As gold is pure, so love is sure.' I bought it and asked Charlotte to marry me that evening."

Robert smiles. "So you're a romantic."

"I was. I don't know if I am anymore."

"Well, then I can be enough of one for both of us."

Jimmy looks at Robert, with the moonlight splashed across his perfect face, and he feels something growing between them like a magnetic field. "Because getting high in the middle of nowhere is so romantic," Jimmy teases, the end of his joint billowing smoke.

"You just don't know how to appreciate nature, Pagey."

"All I'm saying is I thought I'd be smoking a different type of plant tonight."

Robert sort of chokes, sputtering smoke and laughter through his lips. "Was that a sex joke?"

"Not my best, but, yeah, it was."

"You're pretty smooth for a guy who hasn't had a date in five years."

"It's not as though I haven't had my share of offers. I'm selectively celibate."

"And you're willing to break this five-year streak for little ol' me?" Robert does his best to look coy, but that's difficult for a man his size.

"Not if you're going to be insufferable about it," Jimmy says, playful. He takes one final long drag before stubbing out the blunt in the car's ashtray. Robert does the same after a moment, as though he's trusting Jimmy's cue here.

Jimmy's hand slides into Robert's own, fingers locking together, then Jimmy pulls him close enough that his mouth can collapse against Robert's. Robert tastes like weed and his own organic sweetness, the flavor Jimmy always tastes on his tongue when they kiss. Robert hums a happy noise into Jimmy's open mouth, and Jimmy tilts into it and tries his best to crawl inside.

His hand finds the front of Robert's shirt, unbuttoning in an awkward fumble before sliding in over hot skin. Robert's breath shakes out in a gasp as Jimmy explores his anatomy. He's hard and lean and built nothing like Charlotte; his chest is flat and covered with hair trailing down to his navel, his body all warm lines of muscle.

Jimmy shoves his other hand into Robert's hair and brings him closer. Robert's hand is on Jimmy's waist, the heat of his palm practically burning through the material separating skin from skin. Jimmy can't quite believe they're doing this, but he wants it, wants it so bad he can hardly breathe. Robert's kissing his way along Jimmy's jaw line, his breath hot and wet at Jimmy's ear.

Jimmy's hand glides down Robert's chest, his stomach, finds the bulge in his jeans and gives it a careful squeeze. Robert moans a delicious sound, and Jimmy can't stop touching, can't stop grinding the heel of his hand into Robert's dick. Robert's making glorious, ragged sounds against the edge of Jimmy's jaw, and the windows are fogged up amidst the sweaty, breathless, desperate thing they've created here.

Jimmy knows exactly what he wants, and there's no question that Robert wants it too. He slides off of the seat, just enough so he can kneel on the floor. "Move," he orders in a huff of breath, and Robert does as he's told, sliding effortlessly across the leather seats, his legs spread wide on either side of Jimmy.

Jimmy rises to kiss him, and Robert's mouth is hot and electric against Jimmy's own, his fingers carding through Jimmy's hair. Jimmy's hands slide over Robert's thighs, reach up to tear at his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping and shoving his jeans down, just enough to—

A shocked noise bubbles out of Jimmy's throat. Robert's not wearing underwear. Jimmy's not sure why that surprises him, really, why he's focusing on that particular detail when Robert's dick is hard and perky and leaking pre-cum already. Holy motherfucking shit, he's... he's huge.

Jimmy isn't sure if he'll be any good at this, but he wants to try, because there's nowhere to be but here, and tonight they're eighteen again, two young, throbbing hearts: stoned, lonely, and horny to the end.

Robert slides his hips forward, the leather creaking as he moves, and Jimmy opens his mouth and takes him in. Robert gasps and arches and shakes like this is his first time, making Jimmy feel saintly. Just as Jimmy predicted, Robert's pretty vocal, gasping out a litany of breathless noises and praises as Jimmy's mouth works, sloppy and unpracticed, around his cock. There's an occasional aborted pulse of hips, like Robert wants to buck forward but remembers Jimmy's new at this.

Robert fists a hand in Jimmy's hair, gentle even as he tugs and pulls his way through this sad excuse for a blowjob. But if Robert didn't want this he wouldn't be groaning things like, "Oh, fuck, Pagey," and various noises of encouragement, pushing Jimmy hotter and hotter.

He never imagined blowing a dude would get him hard, but Jimmy's tenting furiously in his jeans, and he just has to reach down and rub his hand over the swell of arousal there. Fuck, that's incredible. Jimmy moans around Robert's cock, and Robert shudders an incoherent noise of want, lifting his hips and pushing himself in deeper.

Jimmy gags but doesn't pull away. He tries to get used to the way it feels in his mouth, nudging against the back of his throat. Robert's doing his best to stay impossibly still, his only movements the dig of his fingers in Jimmy's hair and the ragged heaves of his chest. Jimmy works his lips around the shaft, his hand rubbing and grinding against his own erection.

Robert's gasping, "Jim, Jim, oh God," and that's it, Jimmy's coming hard in his jeans, stars bursting behind his eyes. He moans, and Robert feels it everywhere, his thighs quaking with the force of what's to come. Jimmy pulls back to focus on the head, his tongue tracing the bulging vein along the underside of his dick. Then Robert loses it completely, shameless and messy, getting Jimmy's mouth filthy with it. Jimmy swallows around him, curious how he tastes.

Robert's sort of petting Jimmy's hair, his head dropped back against the seat, his body boneless and sated. Jimmy licks him clean and finds he likes the way Robert tastes like sweat and cotton. A small yet insistent part of his brain tells him he might like sucking cock too, but Jimmy's still a little stunned that any of this happened, so he's not going to dwell on that right now. He'll think about it later tonight when he crawls into bed and wonders what this all means.

But right now he's still shivering through the tail of bliss and trying not to fall in love with Robert Plant.

Robert makes a mournful noise when he slips out of Jimmy's mouth. He's still catching his breath as he looks at Jimmy and says, "Do you want me to do you?"

"I already did."

Robert looks hurt and offended. "Why?"

"Why the fuck do you think?" Jimmy says with a bite of a laugh.

"I would have..."

"I know, but I couldn't wait." Jimmy's not proud of this, but he ought to earn some points for admitting it. "Hearing you, touching you... It was a lot to handle at once."

"I think we both know what you were  _handling_ ," Robert sneers.

"Are you seriously put out because I jerked off while I was blowing you?"

Robert pouts with his ridiculous mouth. "When you say it that way, it sounds stupid."

"That's because it is." Jimmy rises up on his knees, lays his hands on Robert's still-shaky thighs and kisses his mouth. "And the night's still young, you know."

Robert's brow furrows in a way that dances a little too close to pity. "How are you not freaking out about this?"

Jimmy's wondering about that too. He has a vague sense of guilt, but it hasn't sunk in yet. When it does, he knows it'll hit him like a tsunami.

Jimmy shrugs. "Must be the weed. Pretty good stuff." He steals another kiss before Robert can protest.

"You're blocking. But that's okay. You'll deal with it eventually."

"I just had your cock in my mouth, and you're psychoanalyzing me?" Jimmy scoffs and shakes his head. "See if I have sex with you again."

"Pagey."

Jimmy figures they're not progressing past this until he talks about his feelings. God damn it. He exhales a deep sigh. "It's different, which I think helps. If it were too much like being with Charlotte... I don't know. But I'm okay. You don't have to watch me like I'm gonna fall apart. I like being with you, and I—I want to do things like this with you."

Robert smiles that goofy-ass grin. "Yeah?"

"Scoot over," Jimmy orders, and the moment's gone. Robert slides into the driver's seat and tucks himself back into his jeans. Jimmy climbs into the passenger seat, leans his weight against the door.

"So was it good for you?"

Jimmy laughs and drops his head back against the glass.

On the drive home, Jimmy stares out the window and watches the countryside roll by—at a safe speed, even—under the guiding light of the moon. There's something easy and real about what they have, and Jimmy can almost imagine what his life might be like with Robert in the picture. Someone to come home to. Someone to fall asleep with. Someone to fill the hole Charlotte left in his and Scarlet's lives.

"Pagey?"

Jimmy turns his head in the direction of Robert's voice. "Yeah?"

"Sorry, I thought you were asleep. You're awfully quiet."

"Not everyone's a motor-mouth like you." Jimmy grins at Robert's pouty look of offense. "Besides, I feel good."

"You should get stoned more often," Robert says, thoughtful.

Jimmy chuckles. "You've really got no business being a kindergarten teacher, you giant hippie freak."

"You're not the first person to tell me that."

"Imagine my surprise."

"At least you've never told me to get a haircut. Or change my accent."

"Your accent is fine. I don't even know where you're from. I feel like that's something I should know by now."

"I'm from Birmingham."

"Oh, a Black Country bloke? My mum warned me about your type."

"Really? Your mum knows you dig blokes?"

Jimmy laughs, deep from his belly. "She discovered the journal I wrote when I was sixteen. Not the easiest conversation to have, let me tell you."

"What kind of boy writes a journal at sixteen?"

"The kind of boy who grows up to be the man who blows you in your car."

Robert does a double-take, because Jimmy's wearing an amused smirk he can't decipher. "I never know when you're joking." How is Robert still unable to tell when Jimmy's fucking with him?

"About what? The blowjob? Because that definitely happened. Where were you?"

Robert laughs, which makes Jimmy laugh too, and they drive some more and laugh some more, and Jimmy feels light and content in a way he hasn't in years, as though the hole in his chest has started to heal.

Robert takes Jimmy home, parking in front of his house, and doesn't seem to be in a hurry for Jimmy to leave. He's sort of staring out the windshield, his forehead scrunched like he wants to say something but can't find the words. Like maybe he doesn't want the night to end here. Jimmy doesn't want it to either.

"Would you like to come in?" Jimmy says, his heartbeat picking up speed in his chest. He tries to soften the request with humor: "You owe me a blowjob."

Robert gives him a sly look. "Do I? I seem to recall you preferring the self-service route."

"It wasn't very good."

"You should have thought of that before you stuck your hand in your trousers, then."

"It was barely even that," Jimmy protests, and this is definitely the most bizarre conversation he's had in a while. "And if you think you're going to get me to beg you to do this, you're sorely mistaken. Jonesy would be perfectly happy to set me up with someone."

"They wouldn't be as good as me," Robert says blithely. "I'm the best."

Jimmy sort of squirms in his seat. "Do they give out awards for that?"

"It's sort of its own reward."

"The only things that are their own rewards are things nobody wants to do anyway."

Robert snorts. "You're quite the cynic, aren't you, Pagey?"

"Well, I can't get my boyfriend to blow me, so, yeah, I think a little cynicism is in order."

Robert laughs, his voice an aria, and Jimmy feels his heart swell. "Shall we go inside then?"

Jimmy doesn't even have to think about saying yes.

Their mouths crash together once Jimmy gets the front door shut. Robert kisses him hard and greedy, and Jimmy's heartbeat is a crazy rush of sound in his ears. He can't believe he's doing this, can't believe he actually wants to feel good again, wants Robert to be the one responsible for that goodness.

Jimmy hears himself moan, and Robert's fingers are slipping the buttons of his shirt from their clasps, exposing the dip of his clavicle. Robert's mouth is hot and wet over Jimmy's throat, sucking and biting kisses into the skin. His hands slide up Jimmy's thighs, sort of groping at his ass as he pushes Jimmy backwards against the door. The noise Jimmy makes is something between a moan and a yelp, and Robert chuckles against his skin.

Robert flattens his tongue in the hollow of Jimmy's throat, works open the buttons of Jimmy's shirt as his mouth chases the trail of his fingers. Robert kneels, his tongue swirling around Jimmy's navel before he unsnaps the button of his jeans. Jimmy shifts his hips, hard and wanting, craving friction. Robert's pulling denim and cotton down and away, and Jimmy can feel the heat of his breath, so close to the hard line of his cock, before Robert takes him into his mouth.

Jimmy's surprised by the noise of stunned shock that leaves his mouth, something in his lower belly clenching and shuddering as Robert's mouth works slow and easy, swallowing him to the hilt. "Fuck," Jimmy shakes out, his hands clutching at Robert's hair, because if he's not anchored to something he thinks he might float away. Robert's mouth is all heat and slick pressure, and there are really no words for what he looks like down there, on his knees sucking Jimmy's cock.

Robert hums around him, and Jimmy feels every vibration tightening his nerves like the tuning pegs of a guitar, where his body is the string and he's going to snap, because it's almost too much already and his skin feels like it's on fire. He drops his head back and groans a shaky noise of encouragement.

Robert's hands reach up to wrap around Jimmy's hips, and his thumbs press hot over the curves of Jimmy's hip bones, dragging him down with the heat of his mouth. His eyes blink open and lock on Jimmy's own, then he pulls him over the edge.

It's a long fall, and Jimmy pushes all the way in, Robert's name falling from his lips in a torrent of slurred, helpless noises as he breaks apart. Robert takes it all, keeps Jimmy upright when his knees buckle and he slumps against the door. When Jimmy's dick slithers free, Robert swallows and licks his lips, his mouth red and wet and soft as he breathes there for a long second.

Jimmy's still shaking, his fingers knotted in Robert's hair. "Shit, you're right. You are the best," Jimmy says, breathless and a little dazed.

Robert smiles, looking surprised and pleased. He closes his mouth over Jimmy again, sucking at the plummy head of his cock, tongue stroking him clean. Jimmy doesn't know how the fuck to respond to that, just feels his legs tremble underneath him and nudges his hips into the heat of Robert's hands.

Jimmy sighs out, "You're perfect," and he means every word of it.

Robert pulls off slowly, a little unwilling to let go. "You've had absolutely zero baseline for comparison the last five years," he murmurs, his breath hot against Jimmy's flagging dick.

Jimmy's fingers push through Robert's hair. "So I've been out of the game for a while. That was still fucking fantastic."

Robert blushes, his hands sliding down Jimmy's hips and thighs. "Thank you, Pagey."

With shaky hands, Jimmy drags his jeans up and gets them fastened, feeling light-headed and cracked straight through the middle. "Would you care for a drink?"

Robert straightens up, presses Jimmy against the door and claims his mouth, deep and hungry, and Jimmy tastes himself on Robert's lips. "I s'pose that's a yes then?" Jimmy says around the kiss.

"Just a quick one, yeah? 'S a school night, you know."

Jimmy disentangles from Robert and heads into the kitchen. "Tea alright?"

"Whatever you're having."

Jimmy pulls the bottle of Jack out of the cabinet. "That's going to be a problem. I can't send you home drunk."

"Well, you won't have to," Robert says, sliding the bottle out of Jimmy's hand and across the countertop, "because you won't be drinking."

"We may not be able to be friends anymore," Jimmy says in his most serious voice, but there's a twitch of a smile that gives him away.

"I'll put the tea on," Robert says, affectionately exasperated with Jimmy's hit-and-miss sense of humor.

Jimmy drops into a chair at the table and hooks his foot in one of the rungs. He watches Robert flit about in the kitchen, and it should probably be weird how comfortable Jimmy is with all this, but it's a much-needed taste of normalcy, like water to a man dying of thirst. He can imagine taking Scarlet home after school someday, then watching Robert walk through these doors a little while later, an integral part of their patchwork family.

Jimmy realizes the day he's dreaded has finally come, the time when Charlotte has faded further and further into the distant past, a sad thing that happened to him on the way to happily ever after.

He feels the pain, the aching loss throbbing in his chest like blood behind a bruise, but Jimmy knows he can live through it. Maybe it's weakened as time has inevitably had its way with him, or maybe he's grown strong enough to bear it.

Whether it was sharing each other's burden of pain, the wine, or the weed, something that happened tonight woke Jimmy up.

"You've gone quiet again," Robert says. "Something wrong?"

"No, not a thing. Just wondering if we might do this again sometime."

"Trying to score some free grass, eh?"

Jimmy snorts a laugh. "Hey, dating you has its perks."

Robert grins to himself as he pours Jimmy's tea. "You called me your boyfriend earlier. Do you know you did that?"

"You cannot hold me responsible for anything I say in a state of arousal."

"That's convenient."

Jimmy lazily pours milk and sugar into his cup. "It's only practical."

Robert rolls his eyes in an exaggerated sort of way. He makes his own cup of tea and sits across from Jimmy at the table. "You're the one who suggested we go out again."

"Hardly the same thing."

"It is in my book."

"Well, then your book's outdated," Jimmy counters before taking a sip of tea.

"Says the man who hasn't had a date in five years."

"I told you, I'm selectively celibate."

"Fine, Mr. Selectively Celibate, do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Jimmy does his best to push back a smile and says, "I wouldn't mind having you around."

Robert grins in that whole-hearted, doofy way of his that makes Jimmy want to kiss him. "It's just that easy? I don't have to go on an arduous quest and retrieve some ancient artifact from the top of a mountain?"

"Your life is not a Tolkien novel, Robert."

Robert pouts like this information distresses him greatly. "So you're my boyfriend," he says, awed and sort of smug. "Never imagined I'd have one of those. Now that you've accepted my offer of boyfriend-ship, how does it feel?"

"It feels good," Jimmy says, and he means it.

* * *

Robert stares at the tombstone rising out of the earth like a jagged tooth. He visits the cemetery almost every day and pays his respects to his departed son. In some ways, being here doesn't feel real. Sometimes he looks into the grass and tries to picture his little boy beneath it, and he just can't. A father should never have to bury his son.

Robert hears footsteps behind him. He doesn't turn around until he hears the voice: "My parents are wondering why you've been avoiding their calls."

Maureen never did get the hang of starting a conversation gently.

"I think I've got a pretty good idea of what they'd like to say to me," Robert says.

Maureen shakes her head and moves closer. She stares down at the grave. "They're worried about you. Karac was your son too."

Robert's fairly certain Maureen told her parents about his affair, ranted and raved about how Karac's death was some sort of karmic punishment for Robert's wrongdoing. Maureen's parents likely extend far more sympathy and understanding toward their own daughter rather than the closeted homosexual she married.

"Then you can tell them I'm doing just fine."

"Yeah, you're doing great," Maureen says with a pinch of sarcasm. "You come here every day, don't you?"

Robert shrugs. "So do you."

"It's different for mothers." Robert thinks that's a bit of a cop-out, but, then again, he's never grown a baby inside of him for nine months, so, yeah, maybe she's got a point.

Maureen fixes him with an intent stare. "I know you still blame yourself. You shouldn't," she says, her voice low and soft, and Robert feels a surge of tenderness toward her. "It was wrong of me to blame you. I was grieving, but so were you. As wrong as it was—and I know it was wrong—it made more sense to me that he died because of something someone did, you know? To face reality, to know that his death was nobody's fault, just a horrific, tragic accident... I wasn't in a place to accept that." She wipes away the tears that have rolled down her cheeks.

"So you blamed me." It sounds more accusatory than he means for it to be.

Maureen nods. "I blamed myself at first, you know. Mothers always do. I thought I'd done something wrong by taking him to my sister's and abandoning you."

"I know. That's why I told you what I did..." He shakes his head, trying to shake away the fresh tears blossoming in his eyes. "You were right to take him away from me."

Maureen flinches like she's been slapped. "No, no, that's—Robert, don't do that. You were a wonderful father. You still are."

"What do you mean?"

"Bonzo tells me you're seeing a single father."

Robert's eyes widen. "Bonzo's speaking to you?" After the split, Bonzo refused to even acknowledge Maureen's existence since she blamed Robert for Karac's death and left him to his grief. Bonzo's nothing if not loyal.

"It's been an uneasy truce," she says. "Honestly, I think the only reason he told me that was to rub it in my face."

Yeah, that sounds like something Bonzo would do. Robert gives a noncommittal shrug. "I didn't plan on it. It just sort of... happened." That's pretty much Robert's go-to explanation for just about everything nowadays, as though since Karac's death he's become an innocent bystander to his own life.

"He's grieving, you're grieving... You two must be the life of the party."

"We have fun," Robert says, because it's true. He laughs more on one date with Jimmy than he has the last five months combined.

"Well, I'm happy for you," she says, not unkindly.

"Yeah?"

"Of course. We're still friends, as much as we can be after something like this." Maureen stares at the grave again, reminding him that there will always be this chasm of grief between them that's bent and twisted their relationship beyond repair. Either you've got the kind of relationship that can survive world-shattering grief, or you don't.

Robert makes a sound of agreement and joins her in looking at the headstone, as though a new inscription has been added, something to soothe the thing in them that needs to be soothed. He wonders how Karac, so young and alive and wonderful, could be no more, and something inside of him shatters like glass. Maureen takes hold of his hand as tears stream down her cheeks. They stay like that for a good long while.


	10. Chapter 10

"So what do you want to do now that you don't have school for a few weeks?" Jimmy asks as he's driving Scarlet home one particuarly grey December afternoon.

Scarlet shrugs. "Can I still see Mr. Plant?"

Jimmy opens his mouth, a little unsure how to answer that. "I—I don't know. I'd have to ask him if he's going away for Christmas. He might want to visit his parents."

"But we can get him a present, right?"

Jimmy blinks, sort of stunned that he hasn't considered that yet. He's fairly sure being Robert's boyfriend means he's obligated to some form of gift exchange. God, what could he even buy for Robert? Charlotte was much simpler to buy for: perfume, jewelry, clothes. Those don't really strike him as acceptable gifts for the man you're dating.

"Of course, yes. He's family." The words tumble out before Jimmy can stop them, but he doesn't feel the need to claw them back. He does consider Robert part of his family, just as he considers Jonesy and Mo and their two daughters part of it as well. It's got nothing at all to do with any romantic feelings he might have for Robert. Nope. Nuh-huh.

"You think he'll get me a present too?" Scarlet asks.

Fuck, now Jimmy has to make sure Robert gets Scarlet a gift so she doesn't feel left out. This is what he gets for dating his daughter's teacher. "Of course, love."

"What about my presents?"

Jimmy sort of laughs. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

Scarlet seems to take that answer as a no, because she starts bargaining with him a mile a minute. "Please?" she begs, dragging the word out. "I've been really good and kept you and Mr. Plant a secret even though I wanna brag about how I get to spend time with him after school and all the other kids don't!"

The kid knows how to argue. And it's not like five-year-olds are the best at keeping secrets. "Alright, well, maybe I can ask Santa to leave you a few extra presents under the tree this year. Since you've been so good, I mean."

"Thank you, Daddy!" Scarlet chirps, and Jimmy smiles to himself.

He's halfway to the house when an idea hits him. "Scarlet, how would you feel if Mr. Plant spent Christmas with us?"

Scarlet's eyes go wide, as though Jimmy said he's buying her a pony. "Can he? Please, please, please?"

"It's up to him, dear, but I can ask for you. I'm sure he'd be happy to if he's not too busy."

Scarlet almost starts crying with joy, and Jimmy thinks he should have filmed this as future blackmail material for when she gets old enough to date.

He waits until about an hour or so later to call Robert. Robert always answers the phone with the sweetest upwards inflection, one of the last traces of his Black Country roots. "'Ello, who's this?"

"Your boyfriend," Jimmy says, with an unreasonable amount of cheer. Damn it, the holiday spirit is getting to him already.

He can hear the smile in Robert's voice. "Pagey! How is everything?"

"Still attached." It just feels like second nature to toss out jokes with Robert. "Scarlet and I were wondering what you're doing for Christmas."

"Oh, well, I was gonna make the pilgrimage up to Kidderminster to see my folks," Robert says, sounding oddly strained. "Maureen and I used to stay with her folks for a spell, then we'd pay a visit to the Plant household. I s'pose you'd call it a greenhouse."

Jimmy snorts an undignified laugh. "Will you be staying with them the whole break?"

"My parents, bless them, are best enjoyed in small doses. Especially now." His voice takes a somber turn toward the end there, and Jimmy can only imagine how they might smother him in the wake of losing Karac.

That's pretty much an opening if Jimmy's ever heard one. "Well, um, if you don't have anyplace else to go, you're welcome to stay with us. I mean, it's not like we'll be doing much of anything. Just a quick jaunt to my parents' place for a day or two—small doses, yeah? And Jonesy lives right next door, so..." Jimmy shrugs before he realizes Robert can't see that over the phone. "But, uh, you're one of us, if you want to be."

There's a brief moment of silence, and Jimmy wonders in horror if he's fucked this up before it even began. But Robert's smiling when he says, "I'd like that," so Jimmy sighs out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"So when will you be staying with your parents? Before or during Christmas?"

"I kinda like to get it out of the way early." Robert laughs. "I know that sounds horrible, but my mum warned me not to marry Maureen. 'Course, she also told me if I stepped on a crack, I would indeed break her back. It doesn't work; I tried. So, as you can imagine, she may not have been the most credible source. But even a stopped clock is right twice a day, eh?"

"You'll be spending Christmas with us then?" Jimmy's almost surprised to realize that's exactly what he wants. In the years since Charlotte died, Jimmy's shared his Christmases with Jonesy, but somehow that only magnifies his loneliness. He sees Jonesy's family so happy and whole, and it's as though Jimmy's standing out in the cold, peering through the window and wishing he could warm his chilled bones at the fire of Jonesy's hearth.

"It looks that way, yeah."

"Great." Jimmy twirls the phone cord around his finger. "You know, Scarlet always wants to open presents ungodly early. She might have a conniption if she's forced to wait for you to arrive on Christmas morning. Maybe you could—maybe you could stay the night on Christmas Eve—if—if you want." It's only after that's out of his mouth that Jimmy remembers Robert's spent the night here before.

Why is he being so weird about this?

"I'd love to, Pagey. Thank you for inviting me."

"Of course," Jimmy says, as though there was never any other answer.

* * *

London is covered in a blanket of fluffy white. Snowflakes trickle down from the sky in a light flurry. Cottony snow sticks to the rooftops and the bare tree branches. Jimmy, wrapped in a long peacoat and a scarf, walks alongside Mo on the bustling sidewalks.

Jonesy's at home with Scarlet and the girls while Mo and Jimmy attempt to accomplish their Christmas shopping in one afternoon. Shopping with Mo has become a tradition for Jimmy over the past couple years. "How's the shopping going?" Jimmy asks.

Mo sighs. "Tamara's gotten into Doctor Who. She wants a toy Dalek. I looked in six shops and couldn't find one. When I finally did, there was one left, and another woman saw it. I cannot believe a grown woman would push a perfect stranger out of the way, step on her hand, and give her an elbow to the forehead just for a bloody toy... but I did it anyway."

Jimmy laughs, his breath visible in the chill of the air.

"And Jacinda loves those matchbox cars and whatnot. I really miss when they played with dolls," she says with a chuckle. "What about you?"

"I'm almost finished, actually. Scarlet's easy to buy for. She tells me everything she wants."

"I hear a 'but.'"

"I'm seeing someone," Jimmy admits, deciding to just blurt it out without thinking, like ripping off a bandage. "And I don't—I don't know what to buy."

"Oh, Jim, that's wonderful!" Mo grins, looking as though she wants to gush, but, mercifully, doesn't. "Well, what does she like?"

"Football. Music. Food. Tolkien novels."

Mo gives him a questioning look before saying, "Well, you could always write her a song. You've certainly got the talent, and you know what they say about home-made gifts. 'S why I bake most of mine."

"I thought it was because you're too cheap and lazy to buy actual gifts," Jimmy teases.

Mo thwacks his shoulder with her free hand, not unkindly. "I'm not cheap, I'm thrifty. And you've got no business calling anyone cheap, Jim."

Overhead, the sky is dull and dreary but not entirely grey. Like a visual metaphor for Jimmy's life circa Robert's introduction.

"Whoever this woman is," Mo says, "she's certainly done you a world of good. I haven't seen you smile this much in ages."

"My own personal sun," Jimmy says with reverence.

"Would it be too presumptuous to ask to meet her sometime?"

Jimmy wants to be a smart-ass and say, "How do you know you haven't?" but decides against it. "It's still rather early in our relationship. I don't want to... complicate things at such an early stage."

"Oh, I understand completely. Back when John and I started dating, he waited a while to bring me 'round to his friends because he was afraid they'd embarrass him."

"I'm sure they had some stories."

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Yeah," Jimmy says, reconsidering. "Jonesy's pretty vanilla." He's pretty sure Jonesy never did anything wild like stealing a harmonica from Sonny Boy Williamson's dressing room.

"Some people like vanilla."

"Some people are weird," Jimmy says, good-naturedly.

They duck into a nearby shop, and while Mo's off searching for a gift for Jonesy, Jimmy lingers in the menswear department and tries to find a suitable present for Robert. He doesn't see anything that screams "giant hippie freak," but maybe Robert might appreciate something practical, like a sweater.

Jimmy's already got two ideas for gifts, but he isn't sure if they're entirely appropriate for someone you've only been dating a short while. But, really, nothing about their relationship plays by the rules. Jimmy knows Robert will be thrilled with both gifts, and isn't that what matters?

He thinks he can work with Mo's idea of composing a song. It shouldn't take him that long to put something together now that he's got some free time.

Jimmy ends up buying his parents' gifts inside the shop, abandoning altogether the idea that he'll find something for Robert here. He knows exactly what he's getting Robert, and none of those will be found in any old shop.

Jimmy's lingering outside the store and sucking on a cigarette when Mo emerges into the slow drift of snowflakes. "Any luck?" she asks, standing downwind of the smoke.

"I'll have to go out again tomorrow for the last few gifts."

"We've still got a few hours of daylight left," Mo encourages him.

Jimmy shrugs, takes another drag. "'S a long drive." Before Mo can poke at that, he says, "You wouldn't mind watching Scarlet for a bit tomorrow?"

"Not at all. She can help me bake the biscuits I'm sending to my folks."

So that's how Jimmy ends up taking the train to an entirely new area of England the next day. He can't believe he's really doing this, that he's going to such great lengths to buy a gift for someone he's only known a total of about four months. But it feels right, and he knows Robert will love it, so he swallows down his anxiety and hands over the money.

Jimmy manages to find a shop nearby that carries his second gift, so he's officially finished with his Christmas shopping before dinnertime.

When he gets back home, he takes advantage of Mo's babysitting and wraps all of Scarlet's presents, hiding them at the top of his closet. Night has fallen by the time Jimmy saunters next door to pick up Scarlet, and she's ecstatic once he shows her what he's giving Robert for Christmas—one gift from him, the other from the both of them.

Jimmy hasn't been this excited for Christmas morning in years.

* * *

Jimmy's parents still live in his childhood home in Epsom, Surrey. Scarlet gapes out the window at how everything's covered in a blanket of snow while Jimmy mentally steels himself for the inquisition from his parents. He knows they're going to ask if he's seeing anyone, and he isn't sure if he should be honest. He's fairly certain they won't be thrilled to find out their son is dating a man.

"Are you gonna tell Grandma and Grandpa about you and Mr. Plant?" Scarlet asks, effectively halting his train of thought and forcing him to come up with an answer.

"I—I don't know, honey. Let's keep it secret for now, yeah?"

Scarlet sighs as if this is some great hardship. "But it's Christmas!"

Jimmy hears himself laugh. Five-year-old logic is pretty amazing sometimes. "Meaning what?"

"Christmas makes people happy," she explains, like he's an idiot.

"You think Grandma and Grandpa will put aside their, uh, displeasure to be happy for me?"

"Yeah, 'member how Scrooge was all mean at first but then he learned about Christmas and he was nice?"

It's kind of hilarious that she's making that comparison. "But Scrooge had to be visited by the three spirits, remember? I can't exactly summon the Ghost of Christmas Future to pay a visit to my parents."

If Robert were here, he'd crack some stupid joke about how Jimmy could summon spirits because his collection of Aleister Crowley memorabilia probably makes him the devil—or at least a close associate of The Dark Lord—and Jimmy wishes like anything that Robert was here with them now.

The Page house on Miles Road still looks the same as it always has, which is kind of surreal. Jimmy stops the car and stares at the house, anticipating some sort of emotional reaction to his childhood home, and he comes up empty.

He hauls the bags out of the trunk, and Mum comes rushing out of the house to greet him. "Jimmy, love, it's been too long!" she says, crushing him in a maternal hug that Jimmy wants to melt into.

"Sorry, Mum, I've been busy."

"I've told you over and over I'm more than happy to babysit, but do you listen? No!" Mum scolds. She bends down to hug Scarlet and muss her hair. "There's my little princess! My, have you grown! Do you have a kiss for Grandma?"

Scarlet happily kisses Mum's cheek. She seems to enjoy visiting her grandparents—though the promise of presents probably has a lot to do with that.

"Do you ever wish you had a daughter?" Jimmy asks his mother.

Mum straightens up to look at him. "Sometimes I think I did." She runs her fingers through his dark hair. "Are you ever going to get a haircut?"

She asks him this every time she sees him, perhaps oblivious to the fact that Jimmy inherited his luscious locks from her. "I like it this way."

"You say that every year, but every year you keep growing it out. One day you'll come 'round with your hair down to your knees, and your father and I will have to stage an intervention." She takes his hand and leads him inside.

The front room of the house used to be Jimmy's old makeshift studio, but since he moved out it's been remodeled back into a family room. The paint is still in that early stage of brightness, untouched by age or wear. The house is filled with the smells of Jimmy's childhood: freshly-baked breads, mashed potatoes, and slow-cooked corned beef and cabbage.

Scarlet follows Mum in search of presents, while Jimmy finds his father in the kitchen slicing the brisket. "Happy Christmas, Dad."

Dad smiles and gives him a hug. "It's not Christmas yet, lad. Good to see you. How's London treating you?"

"It's alright." His parents ask him the same questions every year, as though they're stuck in a time capsule. And every year, Jimmy gives the same answers, so, really, he's got no room to bitch.

Once they're all seated at the dinner table—set with an ornate red and green checkered tablecloth—Mum and Dad catch Jimmy up on what's been happening with them, and once they're finished talking about Mum's low-stakes canasta games with the neighbor ladies, it's Jimmy's turn.

"Have you started to date, honey?" Mum says, doing her best to mask it as an innocent question.

"Mum," Jimmy whines, but it doesn't kill the conversation. Mum's ruthless when it comes to Jimmy's love life.

"Not one pretty lady you're interested in?"

Jimmy snickers at the private joke. "No." Hey, he's not lying.

Mum decides to go for the jugular and attack the weakest member of the herd. "Scarlet, love, is your daddy seeing anyone special?"

Scarlet goes suspiciously quiet and shakes her head insistently.

"Don't try to weasel information out of my daughter," Jimmy says, because, really, that's a dirty trick.

"I'm not weaseling anything."

Jimmy sighs. "Dad, rein her in, please."

Dad sort of shrugs. "Your mum's got a point, you know. It's been five years."

The thing with grief is that everyone acts like there's an expiration date on it, that one day you're tapped like an empty keg, healed and happy and ready to take on the world again. Jimmy's tried to explain this, but his parents can't grasp it. He's not sure he wants them to, because to truly understand it is to experience it.

"I know you're sad, Jim," Dad continues. "You're still grieving. I can only imagine how you feel. But don't you think it's a good idea to put it aside just for a day and try to find something nice for yourself?"

"Alright, fine, maybe I've been seeing someone," Jimmy admits, begrudgingly, and even as the words leave his mouth, he knows he should have shut the fuck up.  _Christ, Page, pull your shit together or you'll be grilled the rest of the night._

Mum's face lights up. "That's wonderful! How long?"

"Um, I don't know... It's been off and on for a few months. We only recently got serious."  _Shut up, shut up, shut up, you dumb bastard._  It's like there's a hunk of dynamite strapped underneath the table, and every word out of Jimmy's mouth brings it closer to detonation.

"When do we get to meet the lucky lady?"

Jimmy smirks. "Well, never, considering there isn't one."

Mum scoffs. "Don't be so down on yourself. It's unbecoming. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

Jimmy doesn't mean to laugh at that. It just happens. He's almost curious, in a self-destructive sort of way, to see how telling the truth might play out. Having Scarlet present at the table might quell Mum and Dad's resistance. It's a gamble, and Jimmy's never been big on gambling.

"Does this mean you're spending Christmas with your new girlfriend?" Mum pushes on.

Jimmy doesn't usually show up so early; the past few years, he's stayed with his parents either on or closer to Christmas. So it's not a stretch to think he might have other plans this time around.

Scarlet takes that one. "No, Daddy invited Mr. Plant to spend Christmas with us!"

Oh, this bodes nothing good for Jimmy. "Her kindergarten teacher," he explains, feeling his face go hot. "He, uh, he recently lost his son and separated from his wife, so he would have been all alone on Christmas. Scarlet really likes him, so how could I say no?"

"Daddy, you like him too," Scarlet says, and Jimmy wonders if it's possible to smother himself to death in the mashed potatoes.

"Yes, I do," Jimmy admits.

"That's very kind of you to invite Scarlet's teacher into your home," Mum says, like she's going somewhere with that. "No one should be alone on Christmas."

"That's right," Jimmy says, and thankfully the awkwardness melts away and dinner goes back to normal.

After dinner, they gather around the Christmas tree and open presents, while Jimmy tries not to show how awkward receiving gifts makes him feel. Mum gives Jimmy a scarf and Scarlet an enormous dollhouse. Jimmy gives Mum a diamond necklace and Dad an expensive bottle of red wine.

Scarlet gets tucked into bed in Jimmy's childhood bedroom. There's no reason the room should have changed, yet Jimmy's still surprised that it's been left untouched. Standing here, through some brief moment of molecular recall, Jimmy can feel his younger self's aura. It should be comforting, but it only makes Jimmy feel like a lost spirit, stuck between worlds with unfinished business.

When Jimmy gets downstairs, Dad's calling it a night. He hugs Jimmy tightly and says, "Always good to see you, Jim. You look a lot happier than you did last year when you came 'round."

"I'm glad you're enjoying the wine, Dad."

Dad hides a laugh and claps Jimmy on the shoulder. "Good night, wise-arse."

"Good night."

Mum's in the kitchen stirring milk into a cup of tea. "There's enough for another cup, if you'd like," she says.

Jimmy doesn't really want any, but he knows how much Mum loves traditions. So he pours himself a cup and adds enough milk and sugar until it's no longer tea.

"I'd like to know more about this mystery woman you're seeing," Mum says.

"I'm sure you would."

"What is she like? Is she very pretty?"

Jimmy chuckles. "That's... that's one of the words I'd use."

"What's her name? Where did you meet her? Does she get on well with Scarlet?"

"Mum..."

"I'm sorry," she chuckles, moving for the couch. "I'm just so proud of you for getting back out there."

"Well, you shouldn't be," Jimmy says wryly. He joins her on the couch, idly sipping his tea.

"Rubbish. I'm your mum; I'll be proud of you for whatever I please."

"Even if it's tragic and terrible and embarrassing?"

Mum looks at him intently. "Jim, you weren't the best-looking baby in the nursery, but your father and I thought you were the most beautiful thing on this earth. We couldn't wait to show you off to everyone we knew—perfect strangers, even—because we loved you. We still do, and we always will."

Jimmy's touched, but he realizes his mother just sort of insinuated he's tragic, terrible, and embarrassing, and that's as good an illustration of his life as anything else. "Are you absolutely sure about that?"

Mum just gives him that motherly glare of hers.

Jimmy takes a long swallow of tea, formulating his next words in his head. He sets the cup down and faces her. "What if I told you everything about who I'm dating, but the catch was you'd hate me for it?"

"Jim, you're my little boy! I could never hate you!" Mum gasps.

"So maybe 'hate' is a strong word. But you certainly won't be inviting me over for Christmas anymore."

Mum reaches out and squeezes his hand. "How bad could it be? I haven't seen you this happy since—" She stops herself, but Jimmy can figure out what the rest of that sentence might have been.

"Well, hold onto that then," Jimmy says, "when you're wailing, 'I have no son,' in a tic."

Mum rolls her eyes, which, wow, being on the receiving end of that is really annoying.

Jimmy takes a breath and says, "I'm not dating a woman. It's Scarlet's teacher. A man. That's the real reason I invited him to spend Christmas with me and Scarlet." He swallows against the lump in his throat.  _I'm so sorry I turned out like this_ , he thinks, his eyes burning.

Mum's posture stiffens. Her face seems to cycle through a rainbow of colors—white, red, green. Is she going to throw hot tea on him or burst a blood vessel? She's clutching her teacup so tightly Jimmy worries it might shatter.

"He's warm and kind and caring and loving and exactly the type of person Scarlet and I need in our lives," Jimmy continues hoarsely. "He's suffered too, so we understand each other in a way most people never could."

Mum stays very still for a moment, then she looks at Jimmy with so much tenderness that he has to glance away. She asks a question that catches Jimmy entirely off-guard: "How old is he?"

"What?" He's almost certain he's heard her incorrectly. Because that's not the kind of thing you ask after your son reveals his latent homosexuality.

"How old is this bloke? You said he's a teacher, I'm picturing someone much older than you, and I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

Jimmy exhales, and Mum must take offense to that, because she says, "I'm your mum; I'm allowed to make superficial judgements about the people you date."

"I didn't say anything. I just breathed."

Mum waves her hand like he's being irrational. "How old is he?"

This is a bad time to admit he doesn't really know. It's never come up in conversation. "My age, I suppose. If he's older than me, he's done a bloody good job of aging."

Mum breathes out a sigh of relief.

"That's your main hang-up here?"

"It's just that Charlotte was so much younger than you—"

"Only four years," Jimmy protests.

"Four years is a world of difference when you're young!"

Jimmy's ignoring that she's implying he's old. He's been called an ugly baby, embarrassing, and now old. Big day for him.

Mum goes on, "I thought maybe you went in the other direction with the age thing, is all. It wouldn't do for you to be involved with someone much older than you, you know." She sighs out and leans back against the couch. "I always thought if you were going to date a bloke, you'd pick that Jeff lad you always brought 'round."

A laugh bubbles out of Jimmy's throat. "What?"

"You don't remember? You'd bring him here and play guitar—"

"I know who you're talking about, but... Why?"

"You think I don't notice the way my son's friends look at him?"

Jimmy doesn't spit out or choke on his tea, but this is definitely a spit-your-drink kind of moment. "Jeff had a crush on me?"

Mum lifts a hand to her mouth. "Oh, he never told you?"

"Not a word." Jimmy suspects she's bullshitting him, but he's not going to push it. She's taking this whole revelation pretty well. If she's going to ask inane questions about how old Robert is or tell him about ancient, irrelevant crushes his friends had on him, well, Jimmy knows it could be so much worse.

"You don't seem to be very upset about this," Jimmy says, because he has to rattle the nest somehow.

Mum shrugs. "Forbidding you would be the worst thing I could do."

"It wouldn't matter much; I'm thirty-one."

"Don't get smart with me. I know how boys can be about their mothers."

Jimmy isn't even going to go there.

"But most important, you're happy. Scarlet's happy. That's all that ought to matter. I would have loved to have more grandchildren, but it's quality, not quantity, that matters, isn't it?"

"You're not going to tell Dad, are you?"

"Oh, heavens no. With any luck, I can get him used to the idea by the time next Christmas rolls around—in case you want to bring this bloke by so we can meet him." Mum gives Jimmy a conspiratorial wink.

"I think I'll hold off on that for a while. But thank you for being so understanding."

Mum wraps an arm around his shoulders. "You're my world, Jim. All I've ever wanted for you is for you to be happy."

Jimmy feels inches away from crying. He looks at her and sees his tears reflected in her eyes. "Thank you."

* * *

Robert is completely blindsided when Jimmy answers the door on Christmas Eve, because the inside of the house looks like it's been puked on by Santa's elves.

Before he can truly appreciate the decorations, however, Scarlet leaps off of the couch and rushes toward him, latching onto his legs. "Mr. Plant! I missed you!"

"I missed you too," he says, ruffling her hair with the hand that's not currently holding presents.

"Daddy missed you a lot too!"

Robert looks at Jimmy, who's trying very hard not to smile, but his cheeks flush pink with chagrin. "Is that so?" Robert teases, making his way inside. He gets an eyeful of the winter wonderland that is Jimmy's home. Decorative tinsel lines the mantel, a wreath hangs over the fireplace, and an enormous Christmas tree sits in the family room. Underneath the tree are piles of perfectly-wrapped presents. The tree has clearly been decorated in a collaborative effort between Jimmy and Scarlet.

"Yeah, maybe I missed you," Jimmy admits with a curl of a smirk. "Don't be smug about it."

Robert smiles at him and sets the presents into the pile beneath the tree. "Scarlet, are all these for you?"

"No, Daddy got you presents too."

Robert straightens up, stunned. "He did?" He looks at Jimmy, searching for some sort of sign that Scarlet's misunderstood, but Jimmy just gives a sheepish smile and nods. "Pagey, you didn't have to do that."

Jimmy just shrugs and says, "You're family," and Robert feels as though he's been kicked in the chest.

They eat dinner together at the table, and Jimmy looks so contented and comfortable in a way Robert's never seen him before. Maybe this is Jimmy's first Christmas where he hasn't felt like something's missing. In the aftermath of Karac's death, Robert had dreaded this day, terrified he'd spend it alone or, worse, with Bonzo's family, where everything Robert lost is on full display. If someone had told Robert he'd be spending this Christmas in a warm, cozy home amongst people he fits with so steadfastly, he would have thought it was a cruel joke.

"Do you always decorate like this?" Robert asks over a mouth-watering Dutch apple pie that he's a little in love with.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?" Jimmy says with a laugh. "The last few years, I've been a little more modest with the décor, but since you're spending Christmas with us, I thought you might enjoy the excess."

Robert smiles as something swells in his chest. "I do. All of this is just... so much more than I could have ever expected. Thank you both so much."

"And to think you haven't even opened your presents yet," Jimmy says, half-joking.

Robert can't believe they got him presents. He's still grappling with the reality that he managed to forge such an intrinsic bond with this gorgeous, fragile man and his lovely daughter in just three short months. Three months ago, Robert had no wife, no child, no real home, nothing to point to a life being lived with any success. Now he has a sense that where there once was something and then nothing, there is now something again.

After dinner, Robert and Scarlet go outside to build a snowman out of the piles of snow in the front yard. As the sun's setting over the horizon in pink stains fanning out across the sky like groping fingers, Jonesy approaches from next door, bearing gifts.

"Hi, Uncle Jonesy!" Scarlet greets him.

Robert pushes the hair out of his face. "Oi, Jonesy, it's nice to see you again! Jimmy speaks very highly of you."

Jonesy smiles in a confused sort of way. "Does he now?"

"Of course, why wouldn't he?" Robert says, his attention drawn to the stack of gifts in his arms. "You need any help with those, mate?"

"They're rather precariously balanced. I'll just put them under Jimmy's tree, then I'll be off.

The front door opens, and Jimmy steps out. "I thought I heard an obnoxious whining sound."

"Pagey, be nice!" Robert chides.

Jimmy rolls his eyes with love and looks at Jonesy. "Come on inside."

Jonesy smiles at Robert and says, "Cheers, mate," before disappearing into the house.

"Wow," Jonesy says once he's inside. "You went all out this year, didn't you?"

"It's Christmas."

"And if it weren't for Scarlet, you probably wouldn't even recognize any calendar holidays."

Jimmy feels like he ought to be offended by that, but he's too blissed out to care.

"Nice of Scarlet's teacher to drop by," Jonesy says as he sets the presents underneath the tree. "He must really care about his students."

"I invited him," Jimmy says, because Jonesy deserves to know the truth, even if he chooses to be insufferable about it. Jonesy straightens up to get a better look at Jimmy, curious if he's gone entirely mad. "He's going through a rough time right now," Jimmy explains, "and he wouldn't've had anybody to spend Christmas with otherwise."

Jimmy isn't sure he likes how that sounds, as though Robert's some sort of charity case or pity guest. Because Robert's lack of options may have given Jimmy the opportunity to invite him, but it's not the only reason Robert's here now.

"And Scarlet seems to like him," Jimmy adds. "So..." He trails off with a shrug.

Jonesy grins and does that head-tilting thing he does when he's endeared by something, and Jimmy really, really fucking hates when he does that. "Aw, you do have a heart in there!" he says, poking Jimmy's chest.

Jimmy just scowls at Jonesy's finger. "Any part of you that touches me you're not getting back."

Jonesy scoffs but drops his hand away. "Don't be such a Scrooge. I know you feel lost now, but you won't feel this way forever."

On a normal day, Jimmy would laugh bitterly and snap back with a sarcastic, biting comment. But something about Robert's presence in his life has made him hear the truth in Jonesy's words that he wouldn't have heard before.

Jimmy just sighs and says, "Yeah, I know."

"Besides, rumor has it you've got a special someone in your life?"

"Guess what this conversation is about? Not that particular topic. Also, guess whose business this still isn't?"

Jonesy blinks. "Mine?"

"You're good at this game," Jimmy says with a wicked smirk.

Jonesy goes all pouty, like he realizes he's not going to get any details out of Jimmy. "Alright, I'll leave it alone."

Jimmy clutches his chest in mock surprise.

"Smart-arse." Jonesy moves for the door. "Happy Christmas, Jim."

"Yeah, you too, mate," Jimmy says, smiling.

Robert's helping Scarlet put the finishing touches on the snowman when Jonesy steps out. "Well, Scarlet," Jonesy says, "it looks like you're going to have a wonderful Christmas with all those presents under the tree."

"They're not all for me," Scarlet says. "Mr. Plant brought presents for Daddy, didn't you?" She looks at Robert expectantly.

Robert probably shouldn't have told her about that. He chuckles, pushes a lock of hair behind his ear. "Just one. It's nothing spectacular, really."

Jonesy lifts his eyebrows. "Jimmy's very lucky to have a friend like you."

"I could say the same about you."

Jonesy sort of fawns under the praise, like he's secretly ecstatic that Jimmy talks about him. "The last few years haven't been easy for Jim," he says, suddenly solemn. "You're the first person he's reached out to in a long time."

"I feel like the chosen one," Robert jokes. Clearly Jimmy hasn't told Jonesy the extent of their relationship yet.

Jonesy chuckles, then he sighs in a contented sort of way. "Anyway, I ought to get back," he says, jerking his thumb in the direction of his house, as though Robert wouldn't know what he was talking about otherwise. "It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Plant. Have a happy Christmas, both of you."

"Bye, Uncle Jonesy!" Scarlet calls, waving to him as he walks away.

Once the sky's gone dark and speckled with stars, Robert and Scarlet head back inside. Jimmy's already busted out the eggnog, taking hearty gulps from a tall glass with what's likely a lethal dose of rum or vodka or whatever the hell he's drinking nowadays.

Robert steals the glass from Jimmy's thin fingers and swallows the remainder. Jimmy gives him a pouty, put-out look, and, oh, man, his mouth is tempting. "It's Christmas Eve," Jimmy whines. "Let me enjoy it, would you?"

"I thought you only celebrated for Scarlet's sake," Robert points out.

"People can change," Jimmy sort of mumbles before snatching the glass back.

Robert follows Jimmy as he heads into the kitchen for a refill. "People like you?"

"Who do you think I was talking about?" Jimmy gives him a hazy sort of smile, and Robert can see something there that's carefree and full of more life than he's seen before. Jimmy turns away from the kitchen counter, a newly-refilled glass of eggnog in one hand, and lays a hand over Robert's chest. "I'm very glad you're here."

Robert's seriously considering kissing Jimmy right here when Scarlet says, "Daddy, can we open presents now?"

"It's not Christmas yet, love," Jimmy says. He slides away from Robert to sort of nudge Scarlet away from poking at the presents under the tree. "Santa doesn't come until Christmas."

"But I wanna see what Mr. Plant brought me," she whines.

"I do too, sweetie, but it's only one sleep until Christmas, then you can open all of your gifts."

Scarlet considers this for a moment. "The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner Santa comes?"

Jimmy nods.

"Can I go to sleep now?"

Jimmy chuckles. "Do you want to?"

"I wanna go to sleep so it'll be Christmas and I can open presents!"

"Alright, love, let's go upstairs and get you ready for bed." Jimmy sets his drink on the mantel and takes her hand. "Do you want me or Mr. Plant to read you a story tonight?"

Scarlet shakes her head. "No story."

"Well, then, say goodnight to Mr. Plant."

"Goodnight, Mr. Plant!" Scarlet says as she and Jimmy head upstairs.

"Goodnight, Scarlet. I'll see you in the morning," Robert says as his eyes mist over.

"Daddy, are you sure Santa got my letter?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I mailed it myself."

"The postman knows how to get it there, right?" Scarlet's saying before they disappear upstairs.

Robert feels a tightening in his chest and throat, the internal railings of a sob looking for an escape route. He's not going to cry. He's not going to think about the last Christmas he spent with Karac or the way Karac begged to open presents early or how his boy smiled when he opened each gift. He's not going to think about what it used to feel like to be himself, to have a family, to be whole.

Because all of this—the tinsel, the ornaments, the stockings hung over the fireplace, the tree, the presents—is an illusion. Just another fruitless game of pretend. Jimmy and Scarlet aren't Robert's family. They're just two people unfortunately and hopelessly mired in Robert's world of loss. Robert isn't even sure if he's here because he genuinely loves Jimmy, or because he's just lonely and hurting and their mutual pain gives him somewhat of a head start on building something together.

Robert moves over to the mantel and downs the rest of Jimmy's drink to ease the emptiness in his chest. He never cared much for drowning his sorrows in alcohol; booze is a depressant, and Robert's depressed enough, thank you very much. His drug of choice was marijuana, something to get him high and forget for a little while. After the first month without Karac, Robert developed a protective shield of sorts, an internal dose of Novocaine to numb him like ice. But the shield has weakened over time, to the point of uselessness.

Robert knows where Jimmy stashes his cigarettes, so he pilfers a stick from the pack hidden in the top cabinet and lights the tip. He slides open the porch door and steps outside. It's a chilly night, and snow has covered what was once a brilliant green backyard. The leaves have withered from the trees and died, leaving only bare, brittle branches. He sits in one of the wooden chairs facing the yard. Somewhere across the street, a chimney belches smoke into the air.

Robert takes a deep inhale off of the cigarette. He can feel the tears forming again, and he lets them fall and freeze over his skin. It was stupid to think he could avoid the searing pain of a Christmas without Karac. Like if he surrounded himself with enough distractions he could forget. There is no forgetting. Jimmy's had five years to acclimate to losing Charlotte; Robert's only had scant months to get used to never hearing his son's laugh again or his excited footsteps on the stairs. It's the little things that set you back.

Robert takes another drag, lets the smoke pour from his mouth. As much as he cares for Jimmy and Scarlet, he'd trade it all for just one more day with Karac. The wounds have reopened, and the pain of losing him is new again. Robert is an accident waiting to happen, over and over again.

He squeezes his eyes shut and drags a hand through his hair, praying for the numbness.

By the time the porch door squeaks open, his cigarette has burned down to a stub. "Did you get her to sleep?" Robert says, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady.

"I hope so," Jimmy chuckles.

Robert doesn't say anything, just puffs on his cigarette.

Jimmy makes an amused noise and slides the door shut as he moves closer. "Is that one of mine?"

"'M sorry, I didn't think I'd be needing any."

Jimmy's quiet for a moment, as if sensing Robert's distress without seeing his face. "Is something the matter?"

Robert flicks the cigarette butt onto the ground and stubs it out with his shoe. "This is my first Christmas without Karac. It's... it's unimaginable to me that he isn't here, you know?"

Jimmy steps over to him and laces his fingers with Robert's own, as though attempting to shoulder his pain.

Tears rain down Robert's cheeks, the raw sting of loss twisting through his veins. Jimmy reaches for him, possibly sensing the impending waterworks. This simple gesture pierces through Robert's shield like a fish hook, and he crumbles in Jimmy's arms, sobs racking his frame.

Robert hasn't cried like this since that awful first month after Karac's death. A strangled noise rips from his mouth, his body shaking from his sobs. Jimmy holds him tighter, and Robert doesn't know if Jimmy's arms can envelope him enough, cocoon him from the sorrow shredding his insides. He weeps like a motherfucker, shattered and heartsick, until his eyes run dry and his sobs slow and cease.

Jimmy looks at him, curving an icy hand around Robert's face and wiping a wayward tear with his thumb. "I wish none of this happened to you. I wish things were the way they're supposed to be and you'd be at home with your wife and son instead of... None of this is fair."

Robert just blinks, sending fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He doesn't trust his voice not to break and send him spiraling into another crying jag. He finds Jimmy's hands and tangles their fingers together.

"With Scarlet, it seems like it's so easy to fix things," Jimmy says, gazing down at the way their hands are joined. "I can cover scrapes and bruises with a bandage. The promise of ice cream or chocolate can make the tears go away. I can glue a broken toy back together. But when it comes to the real hurts, the things that twist you up and burn through your insides... I still haven't got a way of dealing with those."

Robert's surprised to hear himself laugh. Well, it's not a full laugh, just a soft chuckle, but it gets the job done. "Yeah, I can see that."

Jimmy does a pouty, scowly sort of thing that Robert cannot take seriously  _at all_. "Glass houses, Robert."

Robert manages a smile, still bleary-eyed from crying. He squeezes Jimmy's hands with the slightest pressure. "'M sorry to be such a downer. I really do appreciate you inviting me into your home. I don't think there's anyplace I'd rather be."

Jimmy blinks, gazing at him with curious eyes.

"My folks, bless them, well, they just don't know how to handle me. The wet-eyed looks, the emotional hugs, the suffocating pity. It's as though they're waiting for me to break down, and it makes my heart pound and I feel like the room's shrinking around me, and I just... You don't make me feel like that at all. I feel... I feel at home here, in a strange way."

Jimmy smiles as though privy to a private joke. "I'm glad. You're always wanted here, by Scarlet and myself." He takes one of Robert's frosty hands between his own. "You ought to get inside before you freeze to death." Jimmy sort of tugs at Robert's hand, encouraging him to stand up. "Come on. I'll put on some tea—or hot cocoa, if you prefer."

Robert follows him inside, and Jimmy shoos him away from trying to help with the cocoa. "Can't have you learning my special recipe," Jimmy says.

When Jimmy's done, Robert watches him pour Irish cream liqueur and a splash of vodka into the mugs. Is it really any surprise that Jimmy's secret ingredient is booze? But, hey, Robert's the guest, he's not going to complain, especially when Jimmy's been so kind as to invite him to spend Christmas with his family.

Jimmy hands Robert a mug and sits across from him at the table. "How's that Bonzo mate of yours?"

Robert grins, pleased that Jimmy remembers. "He's quite well, actually. A few days ago, I paid a visit to him and his family, you know, to drop off presents and such."

"You're a regular Santa Claus, aren't you?" Jimmy says with an amused snort.

Robert huffs a laugh. "Sans the beard, yeah. Although I did have one for a spell."

Jimmy sort of tilts his head and squints, as though trying to picture that. "How must that have looked?"

"'S what I refer to as my 'unfortunate facial hair' stage."

"I think all of us have an unfortunate facial hair stage. God, you should have seen Jonesy's atrocious attempt at growing a moustache. Some nights I still wake up screaming."

"I'm quite fond of my theory that Bonzo was simply born with a moustache," Robert says, sipping at his cocoa. Any thoughts in his head are laid to waste the moment the cocoa hits his tongue. "Oh my God, this is amazing."

Jimmy just looks smug before his smirk disappears behind the rim of his mug. "I suppose I can forgive you for ever doubting me."

"Good, 'cause I'd hate for you to decide not to let me open my presents. I'm very curious what they might be."

"Nothing special," Jimmy says a little too dismissively. "I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"Well, of course you wouldn't, you already know what they are."

"You're not going to trick me into telling you what I got you, Robert. I'm not that drunk yet."

"'Yet'? So there's still hope then?"

Jimmy gives him a flirty look, the corner of his mouth quirked just so. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" Then he suddenly looks confused. "God, why does  _that_  turn me on?"

"Maybe because intoxication is your natural state?"

"That's a theory," Jimmy says with the makings of a smile. "Maybe I'm drunk right now. We just don't know."

"Mm, I think you are. You've been smiling a lot more than usual."

"That makes zero sense."

Robert rubs the back of his neck. "Well, when you're sober, your face seems like it tries to deny any evidence of a smile ever happening. But when you're drunk, you smile like a normal person."

"You're going to make me very self-conscious about my face."

"You shouldn't be. I think your face is very nice."

"It wouldn't make sense to date someone if you didn't like their face," Jimmy says, and, holy shit, he might be blushing a little.

"So you like my face then?"

Jimmy takes a long, hard swallow of cocoa. "This conversation is over."

Robert knows that Jimmy hates feelings and prefers not to have them, so this is as close to a verbal admission of attraction as he's going to get. And, really, Jimmy's actions—agreeing to date him, blowing him, inviting him over for Christmas, buying him presents—speak much louder than his words ever could.


	11. Chapter 11

Scarlet wakes them both up at the crack of dawn by rushing into Jimmy's room and leaping onto the bed. "Daddy, wake up, it's Christmas!"

Jimmy smothers a groan into his pillow and pries open an eye. "What time is it?" he croaks.

"Time for presents!" Scarlet sits on top of him and sort of shakes him. "C'mon!"

Robert awakens on the other side of the bed, stretching and making pornographic noises he probably shouldn't be making with a five-year-old in the room. "Happy Christmas, love," he says with a sleepy smile.

"Mr. Plant, tell Daddy to get up so we can open presents!"

Robert chuckles and lays a hand on Jimmy's arm. "Pagey, wake up."

"I'm up," Jimmy mumbles, rising up and dragging a hand through his hair. Scarlet sits between him and Robert on the bed, as though making certain he doesn't just fall back asleep. But Scarlet's been patient with him, and it would be a huge dick move to be aggrieved about waking up early on Christmas with Robert here.

Robert slides out of bed and grabs his sweater off of the bedside chair. "Scarlet, why don't we go downstairs and let your daddy wake up? I'll make you some hot cocoa, then we can open presents."

"I want lots of marshmallows." Scarlet follows him as he heads out of the room and pulls his sweater on.

Robert's already made cocoa for the three of them by the time Jimmy's finished freshening up. "Finally," Scarlet sighs dramatically, and Jimmy can't help but laugh.

"Alright, you've been patient," Jimmy says, accepting the warm mug Robert hands him. "Go ahead and pick out your first present."

Jimmy and Robert sit on the floor by the tree and watch Scarlet tear into gift after gift. At some point, Jimmy gets comfortable and reclines against the couch, sort of leaning against Robert. He could totally get used to this, having Robert around, sharing Scarlet's childhood with him. He wonders if that's more than Robert can handle after Karac, but he's here with them now, so Jimmy thinks Robert wants this too. Something to make him feel normal again.

After Scarlet's opened all of her presents, they're finished with their cocoa, and Scarlet's carrying a small square box over to Jimmy. "This is for you," she says proudly, setting the present in Jimmy's lap.

"Oh?" Whatever's inside is kind of heavy.

"Mr. Plant helped me."

Jimmy gives Robert a curious smile before pulling the bow apart. He slides a careful finger under the paper. This is too neatly-wrapped for Scarlet to have done it herself. When he gets the box open, there's a lumpy, clay ashtray inside painted a vivid shade of green.

"We made them in class," Scarlet explains. "Everybody else made flower vases and stuff, but you don't like flowers so I made this."

Jimmy picks it up and examines it. It seems pretty sturdy, lacquered with some sort of glossy paint. "It's wonderful, sweetheart. Thank you." He pulls her into a hug, and she kisses his cheek before scampering off to retrieve another gift.

"How much did you help?" Jimmy murmurs to Robert while Scarlet's distracted by the stack of presents.

"Not that much, really. Just the baking. Most of the kids wrapped theirs themselves, but your daughter's a bit of a perfectionist."

Jimmy chuckles. "I can't imagine where she gets that from."

Scarlet brings over another small square box that Jimmy recognizes. "Mr. Plant, this is from me and Daddy—"

"Wait, wait." Jimmy places a hand over hers. "Sweetie, why don't we give him the other one first? Save the best for last, yeah?"

She goes back to the tree to make the trade.

"I wonder what that could be," Robert teases. Jimmy spends a second being embarrassed about the present in that tiny box before Scarlet brings out his other present.

"This is from Daddy."

"Thank you, Pagey," Robert grins before tearing into the paper. He draws out a gold and black jersey with the Wolverhampton Wanderers insignia on the front. Robert stares at it in astonishment for a moment.

"The Wolves, right?" Jimmy prods, because if Robert hates it...

A smile spreads on Robert's face, and Jimmy thinks buying him a present every day would be worth it if it makes him look like that. "Pagey, this is... I don't even know. I love it. Thank you," he says, his hands still buried in the fabric. Jimmy thinks he hears his voice catch slightly around the words. "I'll go put it on right now." Robert hops up and rushes into the guest bathroom to change.

Jimmy smiles to himself. He hopes Robert likes his second gift as much as the first. There's so much that could go wrong here, and, man, it would be a catastrophically wrong move to fuck this up when Robert's feeling the loss of Karac so profoundly today.

"I guess he likes it," Scarlet says. "How come grown-ups like getting clothes?"

"Because when you grow up, Christmas becomes about getting things you need instead of things you want."

Scarlet thinks about that for a moment. "I don't wanna grow up."

Jimmy laughs and rumples her hair. "Nobody does, love."

Robert steps out of the bathroom wearing the jersey, and Jimmy is so not prepared for how it's a perfect fit, wrapping around his long, luscious body like a sausage casing. Robert's freakishly tall, so there's about an inch or two of skin showing from the edge of the shirt to the start of his pajama pants.

Jimmy sort of chokes on a noise in his throat when he tries to form a sentence. "The gift that keeps on giving," he jokes, his voice shaking.

Robert chuckles and drops onto the floor beside him. "It's perfect. I—I love it. Thank you."

Jimmy gives him a tentative smile.

"Daddy, you have to open Mr. Plant's present now!" Scarlet says, grabbing the second to last present from underneath the tree. It's a black box that is so obviously concealing some sort of jewelry, though Robert might have been sneaky and stuck some Polaroids or something in here.

Jimmy lifts up the lid to reveal a gorgeous turquoise necklace on a silver chain. The gemstone is fucking enormous, laid flat against a silver backing. The metalworking is intricate and detailed, with silver tendrils crawling up like snakes to hook around the chain.

This must have cost Robert a fucking fortune.

"Wow," Jimmy manages to say after a moment of stunned silence.

"That's so pretty!" Scarlet chirps, tilting the gemstone and admiring how it catches the light.

"Do you like it?" Robert asks, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jersey. "I liked the color. It made me think of you. But I guess you're not really a jewelry sort of bloke."

"N—no, I love it, I just—this couldn't have been affordable."

Robert waves a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about that. It fell off the back of a truck," he says with a smirk.

Jimmy lifts the necklace out and hooks it around his neck. The stone hangs just past his chest. He watches the morning light glint off of the gem before looking at Robert. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

"That's why it reminded me of you," Robert sort of mumbles.

Jimmy doesn't know how to respond to that except by kissing him. Robert smiles against his mouth, and Jimmy thinks his second gift for Robert won't be such a disaster after all.

"Daddy, can we give Mr. Plant his real present now?" Scarlet says, impatient.

Jimmy chuckles and faces her. "Yeah, go ahead."

Scarlet picks up the last little box underneath the tree and places it in Robert's palm. "It's from me and Daddy."

"Well, thank you both," Robert says. He opens the box and gasps when he sees what's inside: a golden key. "What's it for? Or is it something metaphorical, like 'the key to your heart'?"

Jimmy laughs a nervous sound, because that's not entirely wrong. "It's for the house. I thought you should have a copy."

Robert stares at him, wide-eyed.

"You're family, right? So this is your home just as much as it is mine and Scarlet's."

Robert blinks as tears well in his eyes. "Pagey..."

"You can live here now!" Scarlet announces.

Jimmy's face goes hot. It's not like he hasn't thought about it, but they've had this conversation before. "Not yet, honey. He can't move in with us until he's not your teacher anymore. And, remember, it's up to him. He doesn't have to live here if he doesn't want to."

Robert wipes his eyes, clutches the key in his free hand. "Thank you. You're angels, both of you."

After the three of them share breakfast at the table, Scarlet carries her new toys upstairs to play in her room. Jimmy casts a shy glance at Robert. "I have one more gift for you. It's a surprise."

"Weren't all of them surprises?" Smart-ass.

"Do you want it or not?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me." Jimmy takes Robert's hand and leads him up the stairs. Once they reach the top, Jimmy says, "Close your eyes."

Robert's totally down for whatever Jimmy's got in mind, so he obeys. Jimmy opens a door and leads him inside. Robert can't help but wonder where this is going. He tries to identify the sounds Jimmy's making as he's moving about the room. It sounds as though Jimmy's unlocking something. Could Jimmy have some deep, dark sexual fetish he's deciding now is the time to reveal? For the life of him, Robert can't imagine what it could be.

"Alright, you can open your eyes."

When he does, he's met with a room full of guitars and sound equipment. Robert sort of gasps, awed by Jimmy's collection. There's a guitar with some sort of design painted on it, another with a simple black and white color scheme, and another that's orange and red like a sunset. In the middle of the room is a long, flower-patterned couch.

Jimmy's holding an acoustic guitar in one hand, tucking a chunk of hair behind his ear with the other. He might be smirking at Robert. "You thought it was going to be something dirty, didn't you?"

"No." A strongly-worded denial is key.

Jimmy laughs and sits on the couch. "Go ahead, sit down. Unless you want to stand for about eight minutes." Robert sits beside him as Jimmy lazily plucks each string to check the tuning. "I've wanted to compose something for you for a while, and it's not perfect, but I ran out of time to work on it further."

"You're nervous, aren't you?"

"Shut up, no, I'm not," Jimmy huffs, but Robert doesn't have to be good at reading people to see that Jimmy absolutely is.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's wonderful," Robert reassures him. "You know, your music is one of my favorite things about you. I'd heard your work with the Yardbirds, but you probably had multiple takes to get that right. When you played for the class that day... I don't know, there's something so beautiful about the way you play. I can't explain it, but it certainly softened my opinion of you."

"Oh, well, then I've put more thought into this than it deserved," Jimmy teases. Robert wants to argue with that, but Jimmy plays a soft mix of chords that render Robert silent, listening to the master at work. There's a hint of melancholy to the tune—probably characteristic of everything's Jimmy's composed post-Charlotte—but there's also an edge of hope and beauty that makes Robert's heart swell.

It doesn't feel like nearly eight minutes later when Jimmy finishes the song; Robert feels as though he's lived an entire lifetime in the melodic swirl of notes between them. He wants to live and die in the world created by that beautiful music.

What Robert says, however, is, "That was lovely." Mr. Wordsmith.

Jimmy gives him a shy smile. "You think? It sounds better in my head, you know, with all the other instruments layered on top of it."

"Always your own worst critic," Robert chides, because Jimmy is self-critical to the point of lunacy. "It was wonderful. More than that, really, but I'm at a loss for words right now."

"That doesn't happen very often."

Robert takes that in stride. He knows Jimmy would be distraught if Robert stopped finding something to say about everything. He toys with the cuffs of his jersey again, having left his bracelets on the night table in Jimmy's bedroom last night. "I wish I could have gotten you more than just one silly present," he says. "It seems a shame you only had two things to open."

"Not necessarily," Jimmy says, plucking randomly at the strings. "I opened the gifts from my parents when I visited them. And Jonesy knows better than to give me presents."

Robert wonders about that. "What about Charlotte's parents? Are they still..." He tapers off, a little unwilling to finish that sentence.

"Alive? Yes. But they'd probably rather be dead than send me presents."

Robert almost laughs, because it sounds like a joke, but Jimmy's got that agonized look in his eyes.

"They blame me for what happened," Jimmy says, his voice going soft and his hands stilling over the strings. "They were never very keen on me in the first place, but after she died..." He shrugs the end of that sentence into the ether. "They adore Scarlet, of course, since she's Charlotte's daughter. They send her presents every year on her birthday and Christmas. They're not bad people, they just... lost their daughter."

Robert understands, but that doesn't make it right.

"Besides, I'm not very good at receiving gifts anyway," Jimmy says, standing up and placing the guitar in its case. "'S probably a good thing I only had to open two." He does that hair-tucking thing before he straightens up and says, "Do you still get on with Maureen?"

"We spoke a few weeks ago. She apologized for blaming me."

Jimmy's eyebrows fly up. "Yeah? How come you didn't tell me?"

Robert shrugs. "I s'pose I didn't think you'd want to hear about my relationship with my ex-wife."

"It's important to you," Jimmy says, as though that's all that matters. He sits a little closer to Robert on the couch than he was before, sort of leans against Robert's arm. "You can talk to me about anything, you know."

"Sometimes people say that, but they don't really mean it. Like it's just some sort of pleasantry exchanged to keep up appearances."

"Well, I mean it."

"Thank you, Pagey." Robert slides an arm around Jimmy's shoulders and holds him closer. The scent of his shampoo fills Robert's nose.

The rest of the day is spent in lazy contentment, the three of them laughing and playing and living together as though they belong here. After dinner, Jimmy watches Robert and Scarlet play in the backyard as dusk thickens into another winter night. They're having a snowball fight, it seems, with Scarlet lobbing oversized hunks of snow at Robert, who dodges artfully and gracefully, occasionally firing snowballs of his own, each white missile hitting the ground three feet behind her or a yard to the left. He's missing intentionally, of course, and every now and then he lets one of Scarlet's projectiles land with an explosive splat, sending crumbs of white snow flying. His cheeks are pinked from the cold, and Robert doesn't see Jimmy watching them from the warmth of the kitchen and falling in love with him all over again.

There's something so perfectly playful about Robert, as though he might have been a dog in a past life. With his piles of gold curls, he'd probably be a Golden Retriever or a Collie or one of those sheepdogs with mountains of fur that obscures its vision, and, okay, Jimmy's putting too much thought into this.

Jimmy slides open the porch door and steps out into the brisk cold, his sweater providing minimal warmth against the chill. Robert hears the door and turns in the direction of the noise, smiling like a goof when he sees Jimmy. "Pagey, put a coat on if you're coming out," he says.

Robert's momentary distraction gives Scarlet the opportunity to lob a snowball at him, which lands in an explosion of white against his side.

"I got you!" Scarlet announces.

"That's not fair," Robert whines. "He distracted me!" He points accusingly at Jimmy, who just grins.

"You didn't even get me once," Scarlet counters.

Jimmy shrugs his shoulders and gives Robert a meaningful look. "She's got a point, you know." He turns his gaze toward Scarlet. "It's getting dark, love. Why don't you come inside and get ready for your bath?"

Scarlet fires off one more snowball at Robert and dashes inside with an outpour of giggles, but Robert's too busy laughing and dusting ice flakes off of his coat to retaliate. Once Scarlet's upstairs, Jimmy slips on his long grey peacoat and slides the door closed, joining Robert outside in the snow. "We've got a few moments; she always takes a century deciding what to wear to bed, as though it's some grand adventure," Jimmy says with a laugh.

Robert's gathering up snow in his bare hands, which must be frostbitten, raw claws by now. "Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?" Jimmy asks.

Robert stares at Jimmy's own hands, which are shoved unceremoniously into the pockets of his coat. "Shouldn't you?"

Jimmy shrugs and steps in the snow, leaving a trail of shoe imprints as he walks. Robert half-heartedly tosses a snowball at Jimmy's feet. Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "Robert, no."

"Oh, come on, Pagey. You need some excitement in your life." Robert's already rolling up another snowball.

"Don't you dare throw that at me."

"What're you gonna do about it?" Robert teases before lobbing the snowball directly at Jimmy. It smacks him in the torso, and Jimmy sort of flinches at the impact and sudden sting of ice.

They devolve into a ridiculous, childish snowball fight that ends with Jimmy falling on his ass trying to dodge one of Robert's shots. He laughs and laughs, falling back into the pillow of snow, and he hears the crunch of snow under Robert's shoes as he steps closer.

"Oh dear, you really are no good at sports," Robert says, standing over Jimmy with a smirk on his mouth.

"Shut up. I slipped on the ice."

Robert lies down next to him in the snow, his golden curls fanning out like flames.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, when Scarlet comes back, do you want her to think we're just chilling, or that you fell on your arse?"

Jimmy snorts a laugh. He studies Robert's face, the way it glows beautifully against the setting sun, and Jimmy barely even registers the damp freeze of the snow against his back. He could lie here forever, just memorizing Robert's flawless features, his big, bright and hopeful eyes paired against the sultry line of his mouth.

Jimmy looks at Robert and sees everything he is—loving, beautiful, witty, brilliant, strong, and exciting—like a kaleidoscope of colors, and he can see all the wonderful things they could be together, how Robert's stitched Jimmy and Scarlet up and made them a family again. He thinks he can learn to appreciate this for what it is, instead of measuring it against what he's lost.

Robert reaches out and frees a strand of Jimmy's hair where it's gotten caught in his mouth. "I really want to kiss you right now."

"Oh," Jimmy breathes out, and, Jesus Christ, that's a pathetic response.

Scarlet pushes open the porch door and rescues Jimmy from saying anything else idiotic. "Daddy, I'm ready!" She does a sort of double-take when she sees Jimmy and Robert lying in the snow. "Why are you laying down? Are you making snow angels?"

"Yeah, we were," Jimmy says, sitting up and climbing to his feet. He dusts the flakes of snow off of him the best he can, helps Robert up once he's got his bearings. "I'll be right there, baby."

Jimmy turns to Robert as they head for the door. "S'pose I'll have to take a rain check on that kiss, yeah?" Robert jokes, brushing a few snow clumps off of Jimmy's back.

"Mm, just a brief postponement." Jimmy tosses him a quick smirk over his shoulder before ducking inside.

Once Scarlet's bathed and changed into her pajamas, she wants Robert to put her to bed with a story. Jimmy doesn't hover in the doorway of Scarlet's bedroom, just lets Robert conduct this nightly ritual as though he's part of their family. And Robert is, because Jimmy implicitly said so and gifted him a key to the house, the greatest thing Jimmy could have ever given him: permission to join their life here.

Robert's learned it's not the bedtime story Scarlet appreciates so much as their conversations afterwards, maybe because it's one of the few times she gets to talk to him without Jimmy's presence. Though Robert's pretty sure Jimmy's eavesdropped outside the door a few times.

"Since we gave you a key, are you gonna move in with us?"

"I think that's up to your daddy," Robert says. "Asking someone to move in is a big deal for grown-ups. It's not just one long sleep-over. I think your daddy's a little scared of having someone else live here, since it's been you two for so long."

Scarlet nods like she's considering that. "He likes it when you sleep over 'cause he doesn't have bad dreams."

"You would be scared if you had to go to sleep in the house all by yourself, wouldn't you?"

She nods again.

"Your daddy gets scared too, and I think maybe when I sleep over he feels safe."

"I feel safe when you're here too," Scarlet says. "'Cause if something happens to Daddy, you can help."

Robert wonders about that before shutting down that train of thought entirely. "Nothing bad is ever gonna happen to your daddy when I'm around, love. I promise."

She seems contented with that and snuggles into bed, clutching her new stuffed animals tightly in each arm. Scarlet's bedroom is awash in soft pink hues and bright colors, and sometimes all Robert can see is how it's the stark opposite of what Karac's room had been. "Did your daddy paint that?" he asks, pointing to the flower mural on the far wall.

"Yeah, but I helped too."

"You both did a very good job."

"It was for my birthday, 'cause before my room was just boring white, and I wanted it pink like Tamara and Jacinda's room."

"Is their room pink too?"

"No, it's kinda green 'cause Tamara wanted pink but Jacinda wanted blue, so Uncle Jonesy made them pick something else, but Daddy said my room could be whatever color I wanted, and I don't have a sister to argue with, so I got pink."

Robert smiles. "Do you like not having a brother or sister?"

"Yeah, 'cause I don't wanna share my toys."

He laughs. "Fair enough. Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Uh-huh! Thank you!"

"Did you thank your daddy too?"

"Yeah, but you made it extra special."

Robert's not going to deny that he loves how Scarlet fawns over him like he's the greatest thing in the entire universe. "And you made my Christmas extra special too," he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Now it's time to sleep, yeah?"

Scarlet looks up at him with pleading eyes. "Will you be here in the morning?"

"I think so." He doubts Jimmy's going to send him home now. He switches off the lamp on her bedside table, and the room goes dark, save for the glow from downstairs. Scarlet yawns and closes her eyes, cuddling into one of the plush animals she's holding. Robert watches her drift into warm, liquid sleep, overwhelmed by how much he loves her, how much he's trusted and needed here. She's the most perfect thing in his world, and she's not even his.

Once Scarlet's breathing evens out and her limbs soften in sleep, Robert slips out of the room in search of Jimmy. When Robert sets foot in Jimmy's bedroom, the faint hiss of the shower tells him everything he needs to know. He's stricken with an overwhelming sense of belonging, because Jimmy feels comfortable enough to leave his daughter alone with Robert, and something about that makes Robert feel more loved and useful than he's felt since Karac was alive.

He doesn't think waiting in the bedroom for Jimmy will go over very well, so he kills time downstairs, switching off lights and preparing the house for the night, like he lives here now and this is a totally normal routine for him. He flips through a book or two on the mantel, studies the photographs there with new eyes. Jimmy's wince of a smile in those pictures makes sense now, having been taken after the tragedy wrecked him and left him living on a prayer that he won't fuck up this monumental task of raising a child by himself.

Robert finds himself wondering if Jonesy took those pictures as an attempt to chronicle Scarlet's growth and insisted Jimmy be a part of it. There aren't any solo pictures of Jimmy in the house, at least none that Robert's seen, so Robert's guessing Jimmy isn't big on having his picture taken but concedes for the sake of his daughter. He can't fathom why someone as attractive as Jimmy would be camera-shy.

Robert's thumbing through a book when he hears footsteps on the staircase, then Jimmy's gentle voice: "What are you doing down here?"

Robert shrugs and shelves the book. "Waiting for you. You owe me a kiss."

"Well, come on then," Jimmy says, beckoning him up the stairs. Robert doesn't have to be told twice. When they're inside Jimmy's bedroom, Robert pulls him close and eclipses Jimmy's mouth with his own. Jimmy makes a contented noise, and his hands slide up Robert's back, greedy for more. Robert melts under the wet sphere of Jimmy's open lips, his tongue like candy tracing over Robert's mouth. Robert could die and be reborn in these kisses.

Jimmy inches back, just enough to set the full force of his gaze on Robert, and Robert can smell the familiar scent of Jimmy's shampoo, slightly cooked by his blow-dryer. He lays his hands over Robert's chest as though holding him at bay. "Why don't you wash up, then we'll see what happens?"

It's critical that Robert doesn't fuck this up and bring about that awful moment when you've discussed whether or not you're going to have sex too much to simply go and have it. So Robert just nods and says, "Yeah, okay."

Nailed it.

Jimmy crawls into the massive king-size bed, and Robert rummages through his duffel bag for a clean set of clothes. His hand brushes against something solid, and his mouth goes dry when he realizes it's the bottle of lube he packed "just in case." Now that it seems he'll get to use it tonight, he's suddenly self-conscious, worried that he'll come too soon or that Jimmy won't come at all, that his dick will be too big or not big enough, that Jimmy won't like what he has to offer.

Robert tries to alleviate his anxieties under the hot spray of the shower, mostly by ignoring them entirely. He stares at the stream of the water, the splay of his toes on the tile. This will probably be the easiest sex he's ever had; Jimmy hasn't fucked or been fucked in five years. He's probably totally down for whatever Robert's got in mind, which is so unbelievably hot Robert has to crank the water temperature down a bit so he can think clearly.

When Robert's finished, Jimmy has turned off all the lights in the bedroom and drawn the curtains. His form is a vague shape in the darkness. "You didn't fall asleep, did you?"

Robert's a little startled to hear Jimmy respond, "No, I'm awake." The bed shifts as Jimmy turns over to face him. He pushes aside the blankets on the empty side of the bed, as though coaxing Robert to join him.

Robert slides in beside him, throws an arm over Jimmy and pulls him close. Jimmy crushes his mouth over Robert's own, and Robert thinks that's a pretty good way to start. They kiss until their tongues are rubber, then Robert's mouth trails down the inviting slope of Jimmy's neck, licking at the bulge of his Adam's apple and the concave hollow of his throat. Jimmy moans, and Robert feels the rumble there.

Jimmy hooks a leg over Robert's hips, his heel pressing into the small of Robert's back. One of Jimmy's hands pushes underneath Robert's t-shirt. Robert tries not to make a noise when Jimmy's fingertip explores the peak of his nipple, but Jimmy's touch is like fire on his skin, and he wants to burn. Robert loses track of where Jimmy's hands are, because he's sucking a kiss into the juncture of Jimmy's jaw and neck, and he's making the hottest fucking sounds Robert's ever heard that don't require genital contact, soft little pants and whines that Robert feels hot against his cheek.

He's harder than he can remember being in a long while, but he smothers his erection under the worship of Jimmy's long, lithe body, pulling Jimmy's t-shirt over his head and kissing lines over his skin. Jimmy squirms under Robert's mouth, hands clutching insistently at his hair. "Fuck, please," he begs, his legs sliding over the sheets. Robert responds to that by tugging Jimmy's pajamas over his hips and kissing the inside of his thighs.

Jimmy never knew Robert was such a fucking tease, and he'd have the sense to complain if Robert wasn't so damn good at it. But every touch just makes Jimmy want more, pressure building in his head and his loins. Then Robert's mouthing over the head of Jimmy's cock—fucking finally—and Jimmy lifts his hips up.

The wet heat of his mouth is gone just as quickly as it enveloped him, and Jimmy whines a sound of loss. Robert searches through his bag at the foot of the bed and pulls out a small bottle. "I'm going to be as gentle as I can, okay?" he says, like Jimmy's made of glass.

Jimmy watches Robert get his fingers wet and slick. "Fuck that," he huffs out, and Robert looks sort of stunned. He opens his mouth to respond to that, but no words come out. Jimmy loves the rare moments he strikes Robert speechless.

In lieu of words, Robert just strokes over him, coaxing him open, and Jimmy drops his head against the bed with a shaky moan. It's so much better than the touch of his own hand, because it's Robert, and the fact that he can just look between his legs and see Robert there is seriously fucking with his head.

"This is okay, right?" Robert asks, sounding like a total virgin.

"I thought you said you've done this before."

"Mm, bending over and getting plowed is more in line with my own experience."

Jimmy can't even think about that or he's going to blow his load right now. He wriggles his hips as Robert works his fingers in and out, careful and slow, and Jimmy needs so much more than Robert can give him with two digits.

"Please, I need..." Jimmy can feel his orgasm building in his groin. If it were a musical note, it would be a bottom bass note, a loaded hum, and he knows a note that low only has one way to go.

Robert eases his fingers out, gazing down in awe at Jimmy, who's flushed and shaking and leaking pre-cum. "You have to tell me if anything hurts, okay? Or if you don't like it. This is sort of new for me too."

Jimmy's a bit relieved by that, but not much, because all Robert has to adjust to is fucking a new hole; Jimmy's got an entirely different set of problems here.

He watches Robert shed his clothes and glide his hand over his cock, slick and smooth, then he's pressing in, and it's almost too much. Everything is too big, and Jimmy doesn't know how to adjust into it, how to make it easier. His teeth pull at his lower lip, a moan escaping his throat, and Robert goes still, his hands warm and tight around Jimmy's hips.

"Too much?"

"I just need a moment." Jimmy settles into the mattress, tilts his hips into the push, huffs out a few breaths. Curious, he wraps a leg around Robert's hip, and, Jesus Christ, that's so much better. "Okay, yeah, move, please," he urges, and Robert sinks in so deep Jimmy can't do anything but moan a hazy noise of stunned bliss.

"'S better?" Robert breathes out. His hand slides along the length of Jimmy's thigh, thumb tracing over the back of his knee. It's such a tender, kind gesture that all the fear drops out of Jimmy like it's been cut out of him.

"Yeah, go ahead."

Robert crawls over him, covering Jimmy's mouth with his own as his hips begin to move, rocking into him slow and easy, and Jimmy finds himself pushing into it to pull soft little moans out of Robert each time. He can't resist sliding a hand around his own cock, stroking in time with each thrust until Robert grabs Jimmy's wrist.

"Trust me, Pagey, I'll get you off," Robert says, low and gritty, twisting something tight in Jimmy's gut.

"I thought you've never done this before." Jimmy chokes out a shocked noise when Robert's dick shoves into him just right. Robert sort of smirks and kisses Jimmy's open mouth.

Jimmy's hands reach up to find purchase wherever they can—Robert's arms, his shoulders, his hair. He's moaning obscene sounds he'll probably be embarrassed about later, his hips greedily shoving into Robert's thrusts. He feels the sharp, pulsating build of an orgasm, fists his hands in Robert's hair and wraps his legs tighter around his hips, pulling Robert in deeper. Robert's murmuring praises over Jimmy's skin as his mouth travels along the slope of Jimmy's neck, the curve of his shoulder, the angle of his jaw. Jimmy takes it all, his body wide open and eager for whatever Robert has to give.

That's when it hits him, and he's coming in hot pools over his belly, the orgasm stripped from his bones as his hands dig into the base of Robert's spine. It's overwhelming in a way Jimmy could never have prepared himself for—a symphony of pleasure: guitar, melody, bass, and percussion all in one instrument that knocks the breath out of him. He hears himself crying a low, urgent moan that jumps up into a yelping sort of sound.

Robert's fingers bite into his hips. "Fuck," he breathes out, his hips stuttering and shoving in harder until he lets himself go. Jimmy can feel it, and that really shouldn't turn him on as much as it does. Robert shudders to a stop, his hips occasionally moving in small pulses as he covers Jimmy's panting mouth with his own.

"God, that was..." Jimmy can't even find words right now, his body sweaty and achy and sated. His insides feel bruised and disarranged, but he doesn't even care, because that was awesome.

He wants to say something meaningful, wants to tell Robert that being with him feels like coming home after years of being lost at sea. But what leaves Jimmy's mouth instead is, "I didn't know it would be like that."

Robert's still kissing him, his mouth trailing over Jimmy's chin and the line of his jaw. "What were you expecting?"

Jimmy shrugs. "Something unpleasant."

"Well, I'm glad I exceeded your expectations," Robert says with a huff of a laugh.

Jimmy smiles and pulls him closer, and at that moment he loves Robert as much as he's ever loved anyone.


	12. Chapter 12

Robert's lying in bed, feeling Jimmy's deep, hot sighs in his hair. He knows Jimmy's awake, knows something's bothering him, and it seems only one of them is capable of talking about their feelings. "Pagey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You've been sighing for the past five minutes. Just tell me what's wrong."

Jimmy goes suspiciously quiet for a moment before saying, "It's Jonesy. Tomorrow's his birthday."

"What's so bad about that? You haven't got a gift?"

"In a sense, I do, but I'm not quite sure I'll like his reaction to it. Maybe I should just go out tomorrow and buy something and save myself the trouble."

Robert turns over so he's facing Jimmy, because he can't have a conversation staring at the wall. "What are you on about, love?"

Jimmy blushes and parts his lips the slightest bit, the way he always does under endearments. "Jonesy has his birthday dinner at Mo's restaurant, and he's always nagged me about dating someone. So I thought I'd have a laugh if I showed up with you and introduced you as my boyfriend, but he's going to make such a huge deal of it maybe I shouldn't bother."

"Because I'm another bloke?"

"Well, yes, but because you're  _anyone_. For the past five years, it seems like it's been Jonesy's life goal to get me laid."

Robert chuckles. "If he'd only considered doing it himself."

Jimmy does that adorable thing where his eyes sort of scrunch up when he laughs. "Stop it." Robert's tempted to kiss him, but he knows exactly where that will lead, and it's a rare occasion that Jimmy talks about his feelings without the involvement of alcohol. "So you can only imagine how he's going to take this."

"You don't have to tell him if you're not ready."

"My mum already knows," Jimmy says with a shrug. "Honestly, she was much calmer about it than Jonesy'll be. Her biggest concern was how old you are."

Robert snickers and throws an arm around Jimmy's waist. "So you're worried because he's going to be happy for you?"

Jimmy pouts in that way of his when Robert's said something right. "He's going to treat it like we're bloody engaged."

"Maybe he's already figured it out. You did invite me over for Christmas. And he's been watching Scarlet on the nights we go out. He might suspect something, at least."

"Maybe," Jimmy says, averting his gaze. "Would you—would you want to go with me? There will be plenty of food involved."

"Now that's not fair, exploiting one of my core weaknesses. I feel like I'm being manipulated."

Jimmy smiles, looking flirty and irresistable. "If I promised you sex, would you say yes?"

Robert groans. Jimmy does not play fair sometimes.

"All you've got to do is be polite and eat delicious food, and when we get home my body is yours."

A tempting offer, but Robert thinks he can secure a better deal. "I've got to wait almost twenty-four hours? Why don't we have sex now as sort of a"—he searches for the word—"sealing the deal, you know? Then I'll uphold my part of the bargain tomorrow at dinner."

Jimmy furrows his brow in annoyance. "I don't remember saying anything about this being up for negotiation. Take it or leave it." A smile dances at the edges of his mouth.

"Fine, maybe I won't go with you, then. You can just deal with Jonesy's inquisition on your own. I wonder if he'll try to set you up with someone."

Jimmy scowls. "When did you become evil?"

"Probably when I started dating you, Mr. Crowley."

"Ugh, fuck off," Jimmy grumbles, turning onto his side so his back's facing Robert.

Robert just laughs and cuddles closer, making sure Jimmy feels the insistent press of his erection against his ass. "You're adorable when you're angry, you know?"

Jimmy makes an irritated noise and ruts his hips against Robert's dick.

"Do you still want me to fuck off?"

Jimmy grunts in surrender and lets Robert kiss him. One kiss becomes two, then three, then one endless kiss as Robert's hands skim, warm and curious, over the lines of Jimmy's body. Robert's gotten pretty good at undressing him without much ceremony, and by the time he's got Jimmy's cock in his mouth, Jimmy's forgotten what he was even protesting.

* * *

"I look ridiculous," Robert grumbles as he, Jimmy, and Scarlet walk into Mo's restaurant. The place toes a fine line between upscale and casual, but Jimmy knows to err on the side of caution and dress to impress.

"Nonsense," Jimmy says. "You look fine."

"Some people look good in formal clothes, but I'm not one of them. I haven't had to dress up since—" The words cut off in his throat like a power outage, but Jimmy's fairly certain what the rest of that sentence would have been. "Remind me why I have to be here?"

Jimmy feels like he's explained this a thousand times. "Because I need to introduce you to Jonesy."

"We've already met," Robert says.

"But now that we're dating, you're an entirely different person now who he has to meet."

"This is all very complicated."

The hostess, a skinny, young girl named Lori, sees Jimmy and rushes to greet him. "Mr. Page! You're looking healthy, I see."

Lori's been trying to pique Jimmy's interest in her since she learned Jimmy was single. It's not that she's unattractive by any means—she has dark hair, doe-eyes, and the bee-stung lips of a porn star—but she's also the type of girl who would just love for Jimmy to fall apart in front of her so she could comfort him. Okay, she's never actually said that, but Jimmy's got a pretty good radar for these types of things.

She always calls him Mr. Page, too, like she's Dustin Hoffman in  _The Graduate_ , pining for the seductive Mrs. Robinson.

"I decided to buck up and sell my soul for eternal youth. It's really done wonders for my complexion." When in doubt, scare 'em off.

But Lori laughs and touches his arm in that way of hers. "You're so funny!" She looks at Robert. "Isn't he just a laugh?"

"He ought to try out for Monty Python," Robert says with a straight face.

Jimmy smirks. "Well, I don't have any retirement plans, so I wouldn't rule that out yet. Are Mo and Jonesy here?"

"Of course, of course!" Lori leads the three of them to the dining room, where Jonesy and his family have appropriated a table.

Jonesy grins when he sees Jimmy, but the smile falters a bit when he notices Robert, a six-foot fairy prince, walking alongside Jimmy in a couple-like way. "Jim, you made it," he says as Jimmy takes a seat at the table. "And you—you brought Mr. Plant. What a nice surprise."

Jimmy wants to disappear, because this is clearly the worst idea he's ever had. As though Jonesy and Mo's exuberant congratulations wouldn't be bad enough if Jimmy were dating a woman. Now he's going to be subjected to hilariously offensive yet well-meaning encouragements. He really should've crafted up a bingo card for the occasion so he can feel some semblance of joy.

"Happy birthday, Jonesy," Jimmy says instead, because that's the real reason they're here.

"Oh, Mr. Plant, it's so good to see you again," Mo says.

" _Again_?" Jonesy repeats, flabbergasted.

Mo seems kind of proud she's got some sort of leverage. "Yes, we've met. Granted, it was under very different circumstances. But now I think it makes a lot of sense."

Once the food's been served, Jimmy decides to just get this over with before he can talk himself out of it. "So, Jonesy," he says after a moment that stretches on far too long. "You're probably wondering why Robert's here. Well, he's the reason you've been babysitting Scarlet more than usual."

Realization flickers on Jonesy's face, and his mouth spreads in a wide grin. Then he laughs and, oh, wonderful, he's  _laughing_  at Jimmy's meager attempt at companionship. Fantastic.

"Can we move past this, please?" Jimmy asks.

"I'm sorry," Jonesy says in a way that tells Jimmy he's not sorry at all. "I just... Wow.

Jim, uh, how did this—how did this happen? I mean, no offense, but you never struck me as the type to be"—he gestures vaguely across the table at the both of them in a way that's probably supposed to mean something—"y'know..."

"I'd hate to hear how that sentence would have sounded if you meant to offend me," Jimmy says blithely.

Mo rolls her eyes at her husband. "What John's trying to say is, how did you two find each other?"

"He's Scarlet's teacher," Jimmy answers with a small shrug, as if that's the only answer there is. "I invited him for dinner one evening, and it... evolved from there."

Jonesy's eyes go wide in realization. "Is this why you kept rejecting all the dates I'd try to set you up on?"

Jimmy glares at him. "No."

"So that night I met you, that was your first date with Jimmy?" Mo asks Robert.

"I suppose you could call it that," Robert says with a hint of a smile.

Jimmy says, "To be fair, I wouldn't have considered any of this if Scarlet hadn't suggested it. But I decided to try and see what happened."

"So you're not..." Jonesy's burning a lot of calories trying to be discreet about this.

"Maybe I am. People can change, you know." Jimmy grins, tries not to take too much enjoyment in making Jonesy uncomfortable.

"But this is you we're talking about."

Mo swats Jonesy's hand. "Oh, stop it, John. Can't you just be happy for them?"

Jonesy does a pouty thing, like he's just been scolded by his mother. "So, Robert," he starts, testing out the idea that this goofy-looking dude with wild hair is part of Jimmy's life now, "what's it like dating the world's grumpiest man?"

Robert laughs. "He's not that grumpy. 'Course, maybe I've softened him up a bit through prolonged exposure."

"'Prolonged exposure'?" Jimmy says. "What are you, radioactive?"

Jonesy shoots Robert a look. "See what I mean?"

"That's nothing," Robert says with a scoff. "Joking is how he shows affection."

"I'm right here," Jimmy reminds them, because judging by the way they're talking about him they seem to have forgotten his presence.

Robert ignores Jimmy's protest, keeping his focus on Jonesy. "I work with kindergarteners. I'm well-versed in handling difficult personalities."

Jimmy stares at Robert in feigned contempt. "Are you comparing me to a child?"

"You do act like one on occasion," Robert says with a "what can you do?" kind of shrug.

"I have two words for you, Robert, which I'm not going to say because there are children present."

Robert huffs a laugh, smothering the sound with his hand. Jimmy's not sure if it's the joke, the inappropriateness of it, or Robert's reaction that sets him off, but he's laughing and his stomach hurts and his eyes are a bit wetter than usual.

Jonesy and Mo are watching them, wondering what the hell is so goddamn funny. "You blokes are weird," Jonesy says, trying to sound put out with them, but he's wearing the smile of a man who's watching a long-dead friend come to life again. When was the last time he saw Jimmy laugh like this?

By the time dessert's on the table, Jonesy and Robert have bonded over a shared diligence for Jimmy's curmudgeonly demeanor. Jimmy would be insulted, but there are two enormous dessert trays on the table, so he's not too upset. Chocolate bourbon cupcakes for the adults, and colorful non-alcoholic cupcakes for the kids.

Jimmy's ensconced in a sugary, boozy haze after about three cupcakes, and that doesn't stop him from going for a fourth. Like hell he's turning down vodka-spiked frosting, bourbon, and coffee liqueur filling. It's a special occasion; he's allowed to be greedy.

"Jimmy tells me this is your restaurant," Robert says to Mo. Jimmy's licking frosting off of his fingers, and Robert looks the slightest bit embarrassed by this. "Is all of this your recipes?"

"Most of it, yes. I got promoted to head chef some months back, so I'm in charge of the menu and whatnot."

"You're a fantastic cook."

Mo blushes and waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, aren't you a charmer? All full of compliments. It's no surprise Jimmy fell for you."

Jimmy glares at her, though he's not very intimidating with a mouthful of cupcake. If Robert knew Jimmy fell for him, he'd never live it down. Jimmy contemplates saying something crude like, "plus, he's great in the sack," because no one would be able to decipher it anyway, but he's sober enough that he doesn't want to set a poor example for the kids.

Jonesy asks, "Robert, do you have any children?" and Jimmy feels the icy chill in his belly spread out. The words strike him like a match, sizzling through his skin layer by layer, and it's only a matter of time before the whole room goes up in flames. He looks over at Robert, who's gone suspiciously silent.

Scarlet breaks the silence. "Shh, Daddy says it's rude to talk about that to Mr. Plant," she scolds Jonesy.

Jimmy chuckles, because his daughter is precocious and adorable, and his life is a train wreck.

Robert turns in his seat so he's facing her. "He said that?"

"Uh-huh," Scarlet says with absolute seriousness.

Robert swivels back to face Jonesy and Mo, who might be wondering what the fuck his problem is. They're so not prepared for what comes out of his mouth: "I, uh, I had a son about Scarlet's age. He's not with us anymore."

Jimmy will never stop being proud and a little envious of the ease in which Robert admits that. Robert's pretty amazing at talking about his emotions and feelings in general. He doesn't need to be liquored up to discuss it, doesn't shy away from talking about the emotional landmines of his life.

"I—wow, that's... that's awful. I'm so sorry," Jonesy says in a struggle for words. But Jimmy thinks he sees realization sparking in Jonesy's eyes, as if the impetus for Jimmy's relationship with Robert is spelled out in bright neon letters above their heads.

After dinner, they're loitering outside the restaurant while Jimmy sucks on a cigarette. Robert's keeping Scarlet and the girls entertained, and Jimmy watches him, overwhelmed by the surge of love he feels for this ridiculous blond hippie. He's so immersed in watching Robert's animated gestures and listening to his story that he jumps when Jonesy's voice sounds at his ear: "You really dig this guy, huh?"

"Jesus," Jimmy shakes out, "we need to put a bell on you."

Jonesy gives him a fond smile, the same sort of smile he gets when he watches his daughters do something adorable. "I'm sorry I sort of"—he searches for the word—"freaked out."

"I had a feeling you would. But I was expecting something much more dramatic, so thanks for that."

Jonesy sighs. "I hope you didn't hide it from me because you were afraid of my reaction. You're my best friend, Jim. You'll never have a less threatening audience."

Jimmy takes a long hit off the cigarette. "In that case, will you be my best man at the wedding?"

Jonesy laughs and playfully slugs him in the shoulder. "Baby steps." They watch Robert a moment or two longer. "You said Scarlet suggested it?"

"Probably not a great idea to take dating advice from a five-year-old," Jimmy says. "But she made me realize I'd been wasting a lot of time on grief, time I can't get back. You can only hold onto your sadness for so long before it just starts poisoning you."

Jonesy lifts his eyebrows. "That's really self-aware for you, Jim."

"I'm making a concentrated effort to be considerably less fucked-up."

"Maybe think about quitting smoking?"

Jimmy smirks at him and says, "Baby steps."

* * *

Jimmy shows up a few minutes late to the studio on Sunday morning, but he gives zero fucks about punctuality right now, because his tardiness was  _so_  worth it. Robert woke him up with soft kisses and roaming hands, his mouth and dick coaxing two orgasms out of him before Jimmy even made it downstairs for breakfast.

No one seems to notice Jimmy's late arrival though, as the band and recording engineer are too wrapped up in talking to a tall guy with a camera around his neck. Jimmy hopes to sneak inside unnoticed, but an oddly familiar voice calls out, "Jimmy Page?"

Jimmy turns in the direction of the voice. He blinks, bewildered. Does he know this guy? It could just be a fan, someone who recognizes him from his Yardbirds days, but, man, what are the odds? Jimmy hasn't exactly been a public figure since his departure from the band. He's been turning the hermetic lifestyle into an Olympic sport.

The maybe-stranger moves toward Jimmy, smirking as if privy to a private joke. "Still doing session gigs? I thought you got bored with that scene ages ago."

Jimmy's brow furrows, and he tries to place this man who clearly seems to know him. Something about his features looks familiar somehow, maybe if his hair was longer—

"Oh my God," Jimmy laughs, finally recognizing his old bandmate. "Chris?" Years ago, Chris Dreja played bass in the Yardbirds alongside Jimmy's chaotic lead guitar. Jimmy hasn't seen or spoken to him in five years.

"You remember me," Chris says with a wide smile. "I'm flattered."

"What are you doing here?"

Chris holds up the camera hanging around his neck. "Pictures, mate. I'm putting together a photo book about the British music scene. I've still got a lot of the old pictures from our glory days, but I think capturing the current state of music is just as important." He throws an arm around Jimmy's shoulders and brings him in for a hug. "Enough about me. It's been years, Page. Where the hell have you been?"

"Around," Jimmy says. He feels an unfamiliar surge of enthusiasm, and remembers just how much he truly likes Chris Dreja. "I'm down in Kensington now. You ought to drop by sometime."

"'S a bit of a commute. I live in Brooklyn."

Jimmy's eyes widen. "As in New York?"

Chris chuckles. "That's the one. I've got a studio on Fifth Avenue, just like a real photographer. Honestly, I thought you'd be the first one to pack up and head stateside."

"Someone had to stick around," he jokes.

Chris himself sticks around for most of the session, even after snapping more photos than entirely necessary. When the engineer opts for a break, Jimmy invites Chris to join him out back for a cigarette.

"Since when do you smoke?" Chris asks as Jimmy lights up.

That's a stupid question, so Jimmy opts to ignore it. He stares at the rain-slick cobbled streets, lifts his gaze to the dreary sky.

"So how come you got back into studio work? Before the Yardbirds, you said it was mostly commercials and jingles. I can't imagine it's any more exciting now."

Jimmy shrugs. "After the accident, I didn't know if I'd ever play again. And the hours, for the most part, don't keep me away from home for too long, especially now that Scarlet's in school."

"How old is she now? Five?"

Jimmy smiles and nods, pleased that Chris remembers. "Have you got any of your own?"

"One on the way," Chris says, sounding nervous and ecstatic. "Any advice?"

"I'm the last person you should be asking."

"Yeah, well, you're the best I've got right now."

Jimmy laughs under his breath and takes a drag off the cigarette.

Chris glances at him, then, as if noticing something, does a double-take. "Looks like you've been seeing someone," he teases.

Jimmy follows Chris' line of sight. Chris is staring at Jimmy's neck, so he can't exactly see the problem, but he can put two and two together pretty easily. "Oh." Jimmy lifts a hand to his throat, sheepishly trying to cover whatever evidence Robert left there. "Yeah, I have."

"Good for you, mate. Anyone I know?"

"Doubtful, Mr. Brooklyn."

Chris huffs a laugh. "How long?"

"Just a few months." Jimmy takes another drag, blows out a shaky, smoky breath into the chilly air. "It's strange, you know. It all felt like a terrible nightmare: the accident, losing Charlotte. For years, I kept expecting to wake up and find it was all a cruel joke. But now... it feels like the good things are illusions. It's been so long since I've felt this"—he searches for the word—"happy. It's terrifying."

"You're in love, mate."

The word takes Jimmy by surprise. A hysteric sort of laugh bubbles out of his throat. "I guess I am." Chris would know, of course. He'd seen Jimmy caught in the throes of first love with Charlotte, seen the way his face glowed when he was with her or even said her name. And Jimmy knows Robert's responsible for the light, buoyant feeling in his chest the past few months. When Jimmy thinks about his future, Robert is an essential part of the picture. It's impossible to imagine anything else.

Deep down, Jimmy knows Robert is the one, that the shadow of his first love that haunts and drove away all the others has finally been put to rest.

"I'm happy for you, Page," Chris says. "If anyone deserves to find love again, it's you."

Jimmy looks over at him. "We're sharing a tender moment, aren't we?"

Chris laughs. "I've missed this."

Jimmy has too, if he's honest. He wonders about the road not taken, how much different his life would be had he kept in touch his ex-bandmates. Cutting ties with them didn't seem to do much good. But maybe he needed time to heal and separate the good memories from the bad.

"Man, you really haven't changed a bit," Jimmy says. "Do you still have that godawful Mini Cooper?"

"You remember that?"

"Of course. I also remember how you used to swerve the bloody car to wake me up on the drive back from a gig."

"I told you, those country lanes have a lot of potholes!"

Jimmy laughs, the memories flooding back with clarity. A sparrow descends from the air and splashes about in a rain puddle. Jimmy watches it for a moment before he asks, "How long are you in town?"

"'Til the end of the week."

"Have you rang any of the others? Don't tell me I'm the only one you've talked to; you'll give me a big head."

"Nah, I'll leave that part to your new love," Chris says with a wink and a wicked smirk.

Jimmy punches him in the shoulder, affectionately. "Shut up." God, why can't he stop smiling? "You know, I wouldn't mind getting the old group back together for a one-night reunion gig of sorts. I'm sure they'd get a kick out of seeing each other again. You still know how to play bass?"

"It's like riding a bicycle, except with four wheels."

"I'm pretty sure four wheels makes it a car. And considering your luck with  _potholes_ , I'm not sure if that's a reassuring analogy."

"You were always my favorite," Chris says around a laugh.

"Oh, don't suck up to me now, Chris. You've got nothing to gain."

"Speaking of 'sucking'—"

"Don't," Jimmy warns, fighting a smile. "You've got a child on the way; do you really want his or her first word to be something dirty?"

"I was going to say if the studio scene still sucks, you ought to look into becoming a producer."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "Were you really?"

Chris glances away for half a second too long. "No. But you ought to look into it anyway. You're more of a visionary than Mickie Most."

Jimmy shrugs. "I've considered it, but with my schedule I can't really—" He stops when he realizes his schedule means jack shit now. With Robert in the picture, Jimmy's got much more freedom to explore his career in music. He could step up his game and become a producer. The longer, more demanding hours wouldn't affect Scarlet if Robert's there to help pick up the slack. And Jimmy knows Robert wouldn't mind in the least.

Something to consider.

"Maybe I could work something out in the future," Jimmy says, taking one last drag off the cigarette before stubbing it out with his shoe.

* * *

Robert's actually glad Jimmy's running a bit late on Thursday afternoon, because he gets to talk to Scarlet without her father around. "Do you know when your daddy's birthday is?" Why isn't that a piece of information he already has?

"Uh-huh!" Scarlet rushes up to the giant wall-sized calendar and points to tomorrow's date. "It's this day."

"That's tomorrow," Robert whines. He wanted to do something grand and extravagant, but now that seems like it'll have to wait until next year. He huffs a sigh. "Why didn't he tell me?" Robert thinks that's sort of pertinent information—he's always hyping up his own birthday as the date grows nearer, much to Bonzo's dismay. Why wouldn't Jimmy mention it at least once?

"Daddy doesn't like his birthday."

"Everyone likes birthdays," Robert says with a dismissive handwave, because that's just ridiculous.

She shakes her head. "Not Daddy."

"Well, this year, he doesn't really get a choice about it. Part of growing up is learning to do things you don't like to do. Why do you think he doesn't like his birthday?"

"'Cause he's old," Scarlet says, which makes Robert snort. He should probably feel bad for laughing at that, but he doesn't.

"But I'm old, and I love birthdays."

Scarlet shrugs and screws up her face in a way that means she's out of answers. "That's 'cause Daddy says you're a hippie."

Robert laughs and wonders if other parents love their kids this much. His laughter sort of stops when he realizes the implications in that thought, because Scarlet isn't his daughter, and his flesh-and-blood son is rotting away six feet below ground. But Jimmy's given Robert a key to his house, a house in which Robert's shared Christmas with Jimmy and Scarlet, a house he finds himself referring to as home, so if they're not already some sort of alternative family unit, Robert's got no idea what to make of his life.

"Are you gonna make Daddy have a birthday party?"

"It doesn't have to be a big deal," Robert says, because when she says it like that it sounds ridiculous. "Just, y'know, some sort of acknowledgement that it's a special day." He thinks for a moment. "I wonder if he'd like a birthday cake."

"You should ask Aunt Mo! She always bakes cakes for me on my birthday!"

"It's kind of short notice. I was thinking I could bake him one myself."

"You?" There is no reason a five-year-old should sound so judgemental.

"Why not? I've never baked a cake before, but it can't be that hard, right?" Robert changes the subject before Scarlet can judge him further. "What about presents? Has he mentioned anything he wants?"

Scarlet puts some thought into her response. "Umm, he wants a puppy."

"Oh, I love dogs! But your daddy's never really struck me as a dog person..." Robert studies her face for a half-second. "Does your daddy want a puppy, or do  _you_  want a puppy?"

Scarlet does her very best to look innocuous. "We both do." Robert raises his eyebrows at her, and she sighs.

"Nice try, sweetheart."

"Is she asking for a puppy again?" Jimmy's voice sounds from the doorway.

Robert flails in a totally manly way. How the hell does Jimmy just sneak up on people like that? And how long was he listening? "Again?"

"Scarlet, we've had this discussion before," Jimmy chides, stepping inside the room. "Do we have a big yard for a puppy to play in?" Scarlet shakes her head no. "Do we have food for a puppy?" Another head shake. "Then it doesn't seem fair to bring a puppy home, does it?"

Scarlet thinks for a moment and resolves the question with, "I guess not."

Jimmy chuckles and looks at Robert. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Actually," Robert starts, getting to his feet and rubbing a hand through the back of his hair, "I've got some errands to run. But I'll drop by tomorrow evening, if you haven't got any plans."

"Why would I have plans?" Jimmy says with a good-natured scoff.

Robert wants to say the obvious, like, "because it's your birthday," but decides against it.

That evening, Robert flips through his cookbooks and finds a decent cake recipe. It's nothing too fancy, but he has all the ingredients, and he thinks Jimmy will appreciate the effort. Though maybe the reason Jimmy never mentioned his birthday is because he doesn't want a big deal made out of it. Maybe Robert's being overbearing and obnoxious by assuming Jimmy wants a celebration.

But Robert knows Jimmy, and if anything, Jimmy's probably ignoring his birthday because he doesn't think he deserves to have one, or something equally tragic. Robert would rather be embarrassed for making a big deal of it than feel guilty about not doing anything for Jimmy's birthday at all.

So that's why Robert shows up at Jimmy's house the next evening with a sloppily-frosted cake, feeling like the world's biggest doofus, because apparently the simple task of baking a cake was beyond him. Jimmy probably won't care as long as it tastes good, and, Christ, Robert's hoping it tastes good.

He lets himself into the house, and he's a little surprised to see Jonesy loitering in the kitchen and talking to Jimmy. Jonesy swings his head around to look at Robert with that confused smile Robert thinks might be his default expression. "Oh, Mr. Plant! It's, uh, it's nice to see you." His gaze moves to the box Robert's holding. "What have you got there?"

"Did you bring dinner?" Jimmy asks with an unreasonable amount of suspicion in his voice.

"Not exactly. Just dessert."

Jonesy's eyebrows fly up in shock. "You didn't..."

"Really?" Jimmy says in his unfairly-hot skeptical voice. "What's the occasion?"

"I know you haven't gotten so senile that you'd forget your own birthday," Robert says, setting the box on the kitchen table and removing the lid. Inside the box lies a tragic excuse for a birthday cake that looks nothing like the picture in the cookbook.

"Oh my God," Jonesy says, and it's anybody's guess if he's stunned about the cake itself or the fact that Robert actually did this. "Mo could have frosted this much better."

"Well, I'm not a professional cook, and I only had one evening to prepare, so I think this'll have to do."

Jimmy has gone suspiciously silent, his expression morphing from confused to annoyed as he looks at the cake. This is going downhill fast.

"It—it is your birthday, isn't it?" Robert asks, his voice thready with panic. "Because it's entirely possible that Scarlet told me the wrong date."

Jimmy huffs out a heated sigh, as though he wants to be angry but can't because his daughter's the one responsible for this. "It's my birthday," he says, and no one should sound so wounded uttering those three words.

Robert might have made a huge mistake.

Scarlet chooses that moment to come rushing down the stairs. "Mr. Plant, did you give Daddy his birthday cake yet?"

Robert, Jonesy, and Jimmy force enthusiasm for Scarlet's sake. "I did," Robert answers, "but we'll have to wait 'til after dinner to eat it."

"Uncle Jonesy, are you gonna stay and have cake with us?"

Jonesy chuckles. "Not tonight, dear. I just stopped by to wish your daddy a happy birthday."

How come Jonesy gets to acknowledge Jimmy's birthday, but Robert only gets terse looks when he does it?

Jonesy checks his watch. "I should get back and help Mo with dinner." He looks at Robert and says, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure." He follows Jonesy outside, decides to break the tension with a joke. "I'm having flashbacks to my days as a delinquent student."

"Did you seriously pull a surprise party on Jimmy?"

"It's not so much a party as it is a low-key celebration."

"You know this is going to end badly, right?"

"I think I've made a fair amount of progress with him in the few months we've been, uh, courting."

Jonesy makes a face; Robert probably shouldn't talk like they're in the Middle Ages.

"I got him to start dating again," Robert says in his defense, and, yeah, that's pretty huge. "And a number of other things I won't mention, for your sake."

Jonesy has a myriad of facial expressions conveying varying levels of discomfort, it seems. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea." Jimmy would be bummed if knew he was missing an Uncomfortable Jonesy Face. "So the fact that Jimmy never mentioned his birthday didn't tip you off?"

"I thought that was strange."

"Scarlet is five, and even she knows better than to make a big fuss over Jimmy's birthday."

"What's the big bloody deal anyway? He's afraid of getting older? Well, aren't we all? You grow old, you sag, get over it."

Jonesy laughs, but Robert thinks it's at his own expense. "You have fun with this," he says with a curl of amusement on his lips as he crosses the yard.

Robert doesn't know what the hell to make of Jonesy's attitude. Maybe he's uncomfortable with Jimmy dating a man, and he's taking it out on Robert. Oh well, one problem at a time.

Robert steps back inside the house. Jimmy's got his arms folded over his chest in a way that means nothing good for Robert. Scarlet's curled up on the couch with one of her plush dolls, watching TV, which means Robert can talk to Jimmy about this without risking her eavesdropping on them.

"Why did you make me a cake?" Jimmy asks, like he really wants an answer.

Robert blinks. "Because it's your birthday. Everyone deserves cake on their birthday, even you, Mr. Grumpy."

The corner of Jimmy's mouth twitches into what might be the beginnings of a smile.

"Honestly, most people like having birthdays," Robert teases, walking his fingers along Jimmy's chest. "You're much too young to be fretting about old age." He steals a kiss before Jimmy can respond.

"What about you? I don't even know how old you  _are_."

"I'm twenty-seven."

Jimmy's face falls. "That does not help at all."

Robert can't help but laugh at Jimmy's horrified expression. He cards a hand through Jimmy's unruly hair. "I'm sure you're not that old, Pagey. What are you, thirty?"

Jimmy's lips curl into a frown. "Thirty-two," he admits through his teeth.

"That's not so bad."

Jimmy shrugs half-heartedly. "Sometimes I feel like maybe I should have done something more with my life. Maybe I did myself a disservice by wasting the last five years doing essentially nothing."

Robert ignores the stabbing feeling in his chest. "You're raising a daughter. That's hardly nothing."

Jimmy's face flinches as though he's just realized the impact of his words. "I'm—I didn't mean it that way. I just... When I quit the Yardbirds, I didn't plan on quitting the scene entirely. I just wanted a break so I could help Charlotte with the baby. But I always had intentions of joining another group, maybe starting something of my own."

"You could still do that, y'know."

"How do you figure?"

Robert shrugs like it doesn't matter. "Well, maybe, if you had someone to watch Scarlet, you'd be able to form a new group."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. Robert wonders how the hell he can raise one eyebrow without altering anything else on his face. Must be some sort of attractive-person magic. "Someone like you?"

Robert can't find a way to stumble around answering that question, so he just answers honestly. "Well, yeah."

"You think you're gonna stick around that long?"

"If you'll have me."

Jimmy smiles, and it really suits him. Robert loves that smile, and how it feels to be both its cause and effect. Of course, it's gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Robert asks. "I'm quite familiar with that flavor of misery swimming in your eyes."

Jimmy glances around the room, as though making sure Scarlet isn't listening in. "I met Charlotte on my 22nd birthday."

Robert feels the wallop, but it almost doesn't reach him.

"It feels wrong to celebrate it when she's not here."

Indulging Jimmy's perpetual cloud of angst hasn't seemed to help him work through it. Bonzo helped Robert with his own grief with the tough love method, so maybe that's what Jimmy needs. "You think you're the only person who's lost somebody? Yes, Charlotte's gone, and that's tragic, but you can't even imagine what it's like to lose your own child. Nothing compares to that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know we were in a grief dick-measuring contest."

"That's not—that's not entirely what I meant. It's just... Yes, it's awful and sad that they're gone, but we're still here. We're alive, so we need to live."

Jimmy does a pouty thing with his lips and looks away, as though he knows Robert's right but doesn't want to admit it.

Robert softens his approach just a bit, sensing Jimmy's walls rising back up. "Pagey, it doesn't take any strength to sink into your sadness. I want you to be strong. Don't you want that for Scarlet? Don't you want Scarlet to see her father as a man who doesn't let hardship and grief destroy his spirit?"

"She has you," Jimmy bites out, but even he seems to know how lame of an answer that is.

"But you're her role model. She's always going to look up to you. So what do you want her to see?" Jimmy looks like he's thinking, which is a serious step up from his past few expressions. Robert changes direction. "I would give anything for one more moment with Karac. But you've got an entire lifetime with your own daughter, and you're willing to throw it away."

Jimmy shakes his head. "Oh, come on, Robert. You knew what you were signing on for here. Sometimes things just break and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I don't buy that. You're not broken. If you were, you wouldn't have tried to build something with me. You wouldn't have thought, even for a moment, that you deserved to be happy."

"I don't think I deserve it," Jimmy says with a hint of a smirk. "I'm just selfish."

Robert sighs. Christ, Maureen hadn't been this stubborn, even when she was pregnant. "Not to mention difficult."

"Most people tend to end up liking me or wanting to murder me. You're not the first person who's walked a fine line between the two."

"Let me guess: Jonesy?"

"He can be just as much of a prick as you."

"I'm beginning to notice that."

"Yeah?"

"I don't think he likes me very much."

"What makes you think so?"

Robert shrugs. "He was just... kind of mean to me today."

Surprisingly, a smile spreads on Jimmy's mouth. "Aww, you're just a fragile little flower, aren't you?"

"Shut up. He laughed at me for baking you a cake."

"And I missed that?" Jimmy does his pouty thing, and Robert loves it a lot more than is probably healthy or appropriate.

"He made a lot of uncomfortable faces."

"Don't worry, he does that with me too. You're not special." Jimmy's mouth quirks into a teasing smile. "I'm sure he feels like he's failed somehow. All this time he's been trying to set me up with all these women, but in the end I bring home a bloke. And you managed to get me to do a lot of things he tried for years and couldn't do."

"Probably because he's married," Robert says, and Jimmy snorts.

"And there's probably a fair hint of discomfort that you're a guy," Jimmy adds, self-consciously. "It's not that he doesn't support us, it's just... he's probably not used to it, is all. I'm probably the first person he's encountered with any regularity who likes men and women."

"I s'pose I'll have to learn to live with your best friend not liking me very much."

"He'll get over it," Jimmy says. "People change." He casts a glance at the cake. "I s'pose after five years, maybe it's time I start celebrating my birthday again."

Robert just grins like a moron.

Jimmy moves closer, their legs intertwined even as they stand there in the kitchen. "I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful," he says, his arms snaking around Robert's waist. "I really don't appreciate you enough."

Robert moves his mouth to Jimmy's ear and murmurs, "You could show your appreciation later tonight with a blowjob."

"Hey, it's my birthday, not yours."

Robert laughs, and he can feel the heat of Jimmy's breath against the slope of his neck as Jimmy holds him close. "What are you going to wish for?"

Jimmy sort of sighs and deflates in Robert's arms. "I don't know. I've spent so many years wishing the accident was just a dream I'd wake up from the next day. But now... I'm not sure that's what I want anymore."

"Maybe it's best to wish for something simple," Robert says, his mouth tracing the line of Jimmy's jaw before settling at his ear again. "Y'know, like a blowjob."

Jimmy snorts a laugh. "What is your obsession?"

"I can't help it. I've got an oral fixation," Robert says, and steals the words out of Jimmy's mouth as proof positive.

* * *

Robert brings Jimmy breakfast in bed the next morning, because he's an awesome boyfriend with steadily-improving cooking skills. The tray includes two savory-looking breakfast muffins slathered in honey and butter, scrambled eggs on toast, a small bowl of oatmeal, and a sweaty glass of orange juice.

"Is it still my birthday?" Jimmy asks in a sleepy daze, rubbing his eyes and sitting up in the bed.

"You don't need a special occasion to have breakfast in bed, Pagey." Robert sits beside him and grins.

Jimmy lifts up the piece of toast to examine the underside. "Looks like you didn't burn it."

"I've been practicing," Robert says proudly. "Making breakfast, I mean, not... I haven't been practicing not burning toast."

Jimmy chuckles. "It certainly looks appetizing. Did you taste test? You know, for quality control."

"Scarlet and I both performed taste tests. You're safe."

Scarlet pushes the bedroom door open and hurries inside. She looks at the two of them on the bed and frowns. "How come he gets breakfast in bed and I don't?" she whines, looking to Robert for an answer.

"Oh, well, next time I stay over I'll make sure to bring you breakfast in bed, love," Robert says. "I wanted to do something nice for your daddy for his birthday."

"His birthday was yesterday," Scarlet argues, climbing onto the bed to join them. Jimmy can't help but smile, surrounded by his favorite people in the entire world. "And you made him a cake!"

"Your daddy hasn't celebrated his birthday in a long time," Robert explains. "Don't you think he deserves more than just a cake?"

Scarlet makes her thinking face. "Yeah, I guess." She's still pouting, and Jimmy's got no idea what that's about.

"What's wrong, honey? You can share with me if you want," Jimmy says, offering her the tray of delicious food.

She shakes her head in refusal. "I don't want you to forget about me. If you and Mr. Plant fall in love and get married, you'll be too busy to pay attention to me."

Jimmy blinks, stunned by her words. Has she been feeling neglected? "We will never forget about you. As much as Mr. Plant and I care for each other, you're the most important thing to both of us. I'm very, very sorry if you feel like we haven't been paying attention to you. Is there something we can do to make you feel better?"

Scarlet thinks for a moment. "I want Mr. Plant to make me breakfast in bed—pancakes—and I want you to read to me at night instead of Mr. Plant."

"I thought Mr. Plant was the best at stories," Jimmy says.

"He is, but I miss when you do it."

"Alright, I think we can do that." Jimmy casts a glance at Robert. "Can you handle making pancakes?"

"First time for everything, right?" Robert smiles at Scarlet and says, "I promise, next time I stay over, I'll make you some pancakes." That seems to put her in good spirits, but Robert takes things a step further. "Why don't we do something together? Y'know, as a sort of"—he searches for the word—"family?"

A smile spreads on Jimmy's face. "That sounds lovely. Scarlet, would you like to go someplace special today?"

"Not really," she says, taking Jimmy by surprise. "Can we just stay inside and do what I want to do?"

"Yeah, we can do that." Jimmy turns his head to look out the window. The weather seems okay, but it's January in London, so the sky could open up and pour rain at any moment. Smart kid.

They huddle together in Jimmy's bed, talking and laughing while Jimmy enjoys breakfast. Jimmy surrenders to the magic of it all, the way Robert fits in with them seamlessly, as though he was made to fill the void in their lives. For the length of one heartbeat, he feels the same boundless exhilaration he felt when Scarlet was born, the hopefulness and excitement of new fatherhood.

Robert stops talking mid-sentence, his head jerking in the direction of the bedroom door. "I think—is someone at the door?"

"It's probably Jonesy," Jimmy says, peeling off a bite of the muffin. "Maybe he wants an update on the birthday debacle."

"I'll deal with him." Robert slides out of the bed and leaves the room.

Jimmy swallows, smiles at Scarlet, who's stealing a bite of his oatmeal. "I never meant to make you feel like you weren't important," he says to her, because he thinks she needs to hear that. "I love you more than anything or anyone. Nothing will ever change that."

She stares up at him with her mother's wide, blue eyes.

"Before I started dating Mr. Plant, the last person I ever dated was your mum. You know how when you get a new toy, you're really excited and you play with it all the time, but that doesn't mean you like your other toys any less?"

She nods.

"That's sort of what's going on with me and Mr. Plant. Having another grown-up around the house is new and exciting to me, but that doesn't mean I love you any less, or that I'll ever stop loving you, yeah?" Scarlet looks like she understands, which is good. "Mr. Plant feels the same way. No matter what, he loves you too."

Jimmy takes a long gulp of orange juice. "It's okay that you're feeling this way. I'm glad you talked to us about it. I don't want you to think you can't talk to me or Mr. Plant about how you're feeling. We won't get upset with you, no matter what it is."

Scarlet nods again and pilfers his bowl of oatmeal for herself.

Jimmy's about to say something else when Robert's voice sounds from the stairs. "Pagey, it's one of your mates from the Yardbirds!"

"I'll be right back, love," Jimmy says to Scarlet before sliding his way out of the bed. He passes Robert in the doorway and heads downstairs.

Chris Dreja's waiting on the other side of the front door. "Hey! So, who's the bloke? You get a butler?"

"Not exactly. What brings you all the way here?"

"I found these in my collection, and I thought you might want them." Chris reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and hands Jimmy a few Polaroids. Jimmy glances at the photo on top and sees Charlotte's smiling face staring back at him, and he feels like he's been kicked in the chest.

He flips through the stack. Almost all of the pictures feature Charlotte, either with Jimmy or by herself, and a scant few exhibit Jimmy with the rest of the Yardbirds. He looks stupidly happy in every single photo, and Jimmy doesn't even know if he's capable of smiling like that now. What he would give to be a naïve twenty-two-year-old in love again.

"Thanks..." Jimmy manages to say, his throat locking up at the sight of his lost love. "You—you didn't have to come all the way here."

Chris shrugs. "I wanted to give you a formal goodbye before I head back stateside. I mean, who knows when we'll see each other again, right?" His eyes go wide like he's remembered something. "Oh, and there's this!" He digs in his front pocket and withdraws a folded scrap of paper. "I wrote down all the guys' numbers and addresses for you, in case you wanted to make good on that reunion show."

Jimmy takes the paper in his free hand and just sort of stares at it. Everyone's name is there, even their managers, Peter Grant and Richard Cole. A wave of nostalgia rises in his chest, and for reasons he doesn't entirely understand, he feels oddly discarded.

"Thanks," Jimmy says again, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. "I'll, uh, I'll give them a call."

"I hope you do. It'll be great to get the group back together, even if it's just for one night or two." Chris smiles, sort of self-conscious, and glances away for a moment. "So, seriously, what's with the bloke? Did you hire a nanny to help you with Scarlet? A"—he thinks for a moment—"a manny?"

Jimmy laughs. "You've completely forgotten our last conversation, haven't you?"

"What, about your new girlfriend? I don't see how that's—" Chris lets the rest of that sentence tailspin into silence as the pieces click into place. "You never said it was a woman!"

"The last horse crosses the finish line."

"Holy shit, I had no idea you were..." Chris makes vague hand gestures Jimmy thinks are supposed to communicate the idea of homosexuality.

"I'm not."

Chris looks impossibly confused, which Jimmy thinks is hilarious. "And that's not weird for you?"

"It's a good weird," Jimmy says with a fond smile, because that's a pretty accurate way to describe Robert in general. "Anyway, don't you have a plane to catch?"

"Hell of a time to drop something like that on me."

"I'm trying to incorporate more spontaneity into my life."

"Don't be a stranger, Page," Chris says, grinning as he walks to his car.

"I won't." Jimmy shuts the door and smiles to himself.

When he gets back into the bedroom, Robert's watching him with an inquisitive look. "Well, what did he want?"

Jimmy hesitates for a half-second. If Robert's going to be a part of Jimmy's family, Jimmy shouldn't be afraid to share something like this with him. After all, it's not like Charlotte's any sort of competition, her being, well, dead.

Jimmy sits in the empty space on the bed, surrounded by Robert and Scarlet, and fans the pictures out like a hand of cards. "He found some old pictures of me and Charlotte, and some of me with the Yardbirds."

Scarlet plucks a picture from his hand and studies it. "Is that Mummy?"

"It is," Jimmy says, ignoring the way his chest feels like a balloon expanding too fast.

Scarlet examines the picture, as though trying to find some sort of connection between herself and the familiar stranger in the photograph. Then she says, "You look really happy here, Daddy!" She shows him the picture. Jimmy sees his younger self, and for a brief moment he wants to go back in time and warn that stupid goofball in the photo.

"Yeah, I was," he hears himself say. He checks the back of the picture for a date. Summer 1969. A smile forms on his lips. "I was happy because your mummy was going to have a baby."

"I was the baby, right?"

He laughs. "Of course you were."

"Oh dear," Robert says, thumbing through the photos in Jimmy's hand. "Did you ever, at any point in your life, look unattractive?"

"Flattery is a good approach." Jimmy slaps a hand on Robert's thigh. "What do you want?"

Robert takes the pictures out of Jimmy's grasp and holds them up, as if illustrating a point. "You knew you photographed like a model and you didn't tell me?"

"What's the big deal? I don't even like getting my picture taken."

Robert groans. "Oh, now you're just being cruel."

Jimmy can't resist the urge to laugh at Robert's theatrics. "Your pictures aren't that bad."

"Those are just the few good photos of me that exist."

"You're silly," Jimmy says, rolling his eyes. "Charlotte was a model; maybe some of her photogenic-ness rubbed off on me."

Robert's mouth does a frowny thing that tells Jimmy he's not buying that explanation but he's out of words to argue with.

They spend the rest of the morning looking through the pictures, and Jimmy recalls the stories behind each one. He frames a few of Charlotte and places them in Scarlet's bedroom. The rest of the pictures find places on Jimmy's mahogany bureau and the family room mantel. Six months ago, Jimmy would have shoved these pictures away, buried them so the memories couldn't hurt him. He isn't quite sure why he's displaying them now, but he thinks maybe he's healing.

* * *

_No matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible._

~ George Chakiris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i might have exaggerated a bit when i said there were two more chapters in the first half. well, there were, but i decided to combine them, because there was really no point in having them separated. so with this chapter, we've officially reached the end of ~*book 1*~, and from here on out shit gets real : D i hope you're excited & that you enjoyed the slow pace of book 1, because it's all high-stakes, quick pacing from here. book 2 has some of my favorite chapters/ moments, though, so i'm pretty confident you'll enjoy it, granted in a different way than the first half.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so now begins book 2! I hope you guys enjoyed the slow pacing of the first half, because things get pretty hectic from here on out~

**Book 2**

_When truth is buried underground it grows, it chokes, it gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it._

_~_ Emile Zola

* * *

 

"Is Mr. Plant sleeping over tonight?" Scarlet asks as Jimmy helps her out of the car after school.

"I don't know, sweetie. Maybe."

Scarlet lifts up her arms, and Jimmy hoists her onto his shoulders. She squeals in delight. "He should, right? 'Cause it's Friday and he only sleeps over on weekends, and he promised he'd make me pancakes the next time he stays over. He didn't forget, did he?"

Jimmy strolls up the path, digs his keys out of his pocket. "Of course not. He's very excited about it."

Scarlet tightens her hold around him. "Has he made pancakes for you before?"

"I don't think so..." Jimmy sticks the key into the lock, and a tremor crawls down his spine. Something's not right. The front door is already unlocked. Jimmy always locks the door, but maybe in his haste to pick up Scarlet he'd forgotten. Natural enough.

Jimmy dismisses the worry and turns the knob. The house is still, everything in its proper place. If they were robbed, the thieves clearly wanted nothing to do with the television or the piano or the stereo system. If anything was taken, it would have been something in his guitar room. He climbs the stairs and flings open the door.

Puzzled, Jimmy glances around the room. Nothing he sees is out of the ordinary. The Les Paul, the Stratocaster and their ilk remain untouched. All of his equipment is here, showing no signs of disturbance. What the hell? Why would someone break in and not steal any of Jimmy's most valuable and expensive possessions?

The obvious answer is that there was no break-in, and Jimmy's just an idiot who forgot to lock the door. Jimmy would be more than happy with that, but he can't shake the feeling that someone's been in here.

"What are you looking for?" Scarlet asks.

"I'm not sure."

On a hunch, Jimmy heads down the hall and into the master bedroom. He opens the top drawer of the bureau. Three hundred pounds in cash and stage jewelry from his time in the Yardbirds. All perfectly intact.

Jimmy turns away from the bureau, and that's when he notices the letter lying on the bed.

He holds his breath. A strange force propels his arm to reach out and pluck the small piece of paper off of the bed. Jimmy reads the note and feels his insides turn to ice:

_Jimmy,_

_Does your bloke know you killed Charlotte? And how do you think she would feel about you screwing a man? You've changed, mate. But you still dig blondes, it seems. I'm worried about Scarlet, though. She's not safe as long as she's with you. She ought to be with her real father, don't you think?_

He reads the words again. They don't change. Jimmy's legs almost give out underneath him. Terror hardens and bangs against his chest. He stares at the paper, unblinking, his senses past the point of overload. The world vanishes for several moments, leaving behind only the horror.

Who would have the audacity to suggest Scarlet isn't his daughter? Could they be right? And if they are, does it change anything?

Scarlet's voice snaps Jimmy out of his frozen panic. "Daddy, what's wrong?"

Get out of the house. That's the ticket here. The note doesn't seem to be threatening anyone's life, but if the intruder is still in the house, there's no need to put Scarlet or himself in danger by sticking around.

Jimmy folds the note and stuffs it into his back pocket. "Nothing, love. Hey, why don't we go over to Uncle Jonesy's for a bit?"

He tries not to run down the stairs, but the horrifying thought that the author of the letter could still be in the house chills Jimmy's bones like an icy finger. He rushes out, locks up, and heads next door.

Jimmy struggles to keep the terror off of his face when Jonesy answers the door. "Hey, Jim, what do you need?"

"Can I use your phone?" Jimmy asks, lifting Scarlet off of his shoulders and setting her on the hardwood floor once he's inside. "I'll just be a moment." He swings into the kitchen, grabs the receiver off of the wall. He's about to dial the police when a simple thought stops him. What exactly would he say?

_Hi, I think someone might have broken into my house? I came home to find my door unlocked, see, and there was this note in my bedroom. Well, yes, I suppose I could have forgotten to lock the door. Keys? Yes, two other people have access to my home. No, the note didn't really say anything threatening. Can you rush over here anyway?_

Besides, what would the police even do? Assign someone to watch the house? Doubtful, and even if they did, would Jimmy really want that? He's still a relatively public figure, and if this turns out to be nothing serious, a policeman seeing Robert come and go as he pleases in Jimmy's home might raise more than a few eyebrows.

He should think this through.

"You got any cigarettes?" Jimmy asks.

Jonesy looks a little confused, but he digs a pack out of the cupboard above the sink and offers it to Jimmy. Jimmy takes a smoke, lights up, and slips out the back door.

The rush of nicotine calms him, and he finds himself able to think a little more clearly. Let's assume that Jimmy didn't forget to lock the door, and the intruder used a key to let himself in. Who is that most likely to be?

It couldn't be Robert, because he didn't sleep over last night. He didn't stop by this morning, and he was at work before Jimmy even stepped out the door to take Scarlet to school. The only other person who has a key is Jonesy. But there's simply no way. Okay, maybe Jimmy can buy the idea of Jonesy disapproving of his relationship with Robert. But why accuse him of killing Charlotte? Why raise the question of whether Scarlet is his daughter? That's just cruel, and cruel doesn't really suit Jonesy.

Regardless of Jimmy's biased viewpoint, Jonesy would be the most likely suspect in a police investigation. After all, he had the opportunity: he has a key and stays home all day; he would know when it's safe to sneak in and plant the note. He has a vague yet troublesome motive.

All roads, it seems, lead to Jonesy.

Jimmy takes a long drag. He doesn't think Jonesy would do something like this, but wouldn't it be his luck? He stares at the naked trees in the distance, wondering if there's anyone he can truly trust.

It doesn't take him long to figure out what to do.

When Jimmy finishes his cigarette, he steps inside and dials the familiar number. He waits through the rings, hoping for an answer.

Robert picks up after five rings. "'Ello, who's this?" He sounds a bit winded, as if he rushed to answer the phone.

"It's Jimmy. I need a favor."

"Anything."

"Scarlet and I need a place to stay, but it can't be with you. Do you know anyone or anywhere we could stay?"

"What happened? Are you in danger?"

Jimmy doesn't see the point in lying. "I think so. I'll tell you about it later, I promise."

"How long do you need?"

"I don't know. Maybe just a night or two. But, please, I don't want to impose, if you—"

"You're not an imposition, Pagey. You're family."

Jimmy's heart swells in his chest.

"I know the perfect person for you two to stay with. He might be able to help with whatever you've got going on," Robert says, a smile in his voice. "I'll be over there as soon as I can."

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Bloody right you do," Robert jokes.

Jimmy chuckles, and he hears himself say, "I love you." It just sort of... tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it. And, holy shit, is it scary, because he hasn't said those words to someone in  _that way_  since Charlotte.

What's even more terrifying is that Robert says them back.

Jimmy's a little—okay, a lot—shaken up when he hangs up the phone, so it's not surprising that Jonesy's able to sneak up on him. "You're in trouble, aren't you?"

Jimmy whirls around to see Jonesy's overly-concerned face. "Were you eavesdropping?"

Jonesy shrugs in a way that says he absolutely was. "Couldn't help myself."

"And what makes you think I'm in trouble?"

"Well, you said you needed somewhere to stay, but you didn't even ask me. And it's not about preferring Robert's company, because you said you couldn't stay with him either."

"You're just a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?" Jimmy says with a scowl. "Why don't you try this one next: Colonel Mustard in the conservatory with the..."

Jonesy ignores the sarcasm. "You want to tell me what's going on? Maybe I can help."

"Not yet. I don't even know what I'm dealing with."

"But it's bad, isn't it?"

Jimmy doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to; panic and fear radiate off of him like heat off a sidewalk.

Jonesy lays a hand on Jimmy's shoulder; Jimmy doesn't shake it off. "If you need anything, you know we're here for you."

"You'd tell me, wouldn't you?" Jimmy asks. "If you didn't approve of my relationship with Robert. I mean, you'd have the decency to tell me to my face, right?"

Jonesy looks taken aback, either by the question or the steel in Jimmy's voice. "What's going on, Jim?"

Jimmy decides to confront him with the evidence. Maybe his face will give something away. If not, if he's innocent, it will be good to have someone looking out for him. Jimmy digs into his pocket and withdraws the note. Wordless, he hands the paper to Jonesy, whose expression crumples as he reads.

Jonesy looks like a wounded puppy by the time he's finished reading the note. Jimmy doesn't know what to make of that. "God, Jim... That's horrible. Who would—" Their eyes lock, and realization crosses Jonesy's face. "You think I wrote this?"

Jimmy hadn't really been prepared for how hurt Jonesy sounds. "I think it's possible."

Jonesy sighs, his shoulders slumping as though the accusation has drained him. He stares at the note and shakes his head. "No, no. Look, I admit, I'm not jumping for joy about you dating a bloke, but... it's your business. You're happy with him. I would never..." He shakes his head again. "I would never hurt you like this, Jim."

Jimmy feels like the world's biggest asshole. He takes the note back and stuffs it into his pocket. "I didn't think so. I just... No one else has a key besides you and Robert. And Robert was at work all day, so..."

"Maybe you should call the police," Jonesy says.

"I'm not sure that's the best option right now. With no signs of foul play or any threats, you're the most likely suspect. I think we both know that's a waste of time." Jimmy pushes a hand through his hair. "Robert said he knows someone who can help. I'm going to trust him on this."

While Scarlet's safely stashed away at Jonesy's, Jimmy goes back to his house. If they're going to spend the night somewhere, they're probably going to need an overnight bag. Jimmy unlocks the door, his brain buzzing with unanswered questions. If you have a key to someone's house, and you're going to sneak in, wouldn't you have the forethought to lock the door when you leave? Jimmy didn't see anyone near the house when he pulled into the driveway, so he probably hadn't shown up while the intruder was still inside. There would be no reason for the intruder to rush out and leave the front door unlocked.

So maybe the intruder didn't have a key. Maybe he—or she—picked the lock. Or maybe Jimmy forgot to lock the door when he left. Either way, the Jonesy theory is losing a lot of steam.

Jimmy lets himself inside, still half-suspecting someone's going to burst out from behind a door and slit his throat.  _Calm down, Page._  He takes a deep breath and listens to the silence. If someone is still in the house, he would hear them move. He waits some more. Still nothing.

Start from the beginning: if someone was here when Jimmy found the note, they were probably hiding. Then what? Once Jimmy left and went next door, the intruder would probably make their escape. If Jimmy had gone to call the police, an uninvited guest wouldn't want to stick around.

Still, Jimmy treads gently up the stairs and into the master bedroom. He opens the closet and bathroom doors, checking any possible hiding spots. Nothing. He hastily throws some clothes and supplies into a suitcase, then does the same in Scarlet's room.

He doesn't linger any longer than he needs to.

It takes forty-five nerve-racking minutes for Robert to pull up in front of Jimmy's house. Jimmy rushes toward him with Scarlet in tow and knocks on the window. "Where'd you two come from?" Robert asks as they slide into the passenger seat.

"Next door," Jimmy says.

"Hi, Mr. Plant!"

"Hey, sunshine."

Jimmy relaxes a little, holding Scarlet in his lap, but his leg still quakes enough for Scarlet to put her hand on his thigh to make him stop. "Where are we going?" she asks.

"You and your daddy are gonna stay with a friend of mine," Robert explains as Jimmy's house grows smaller in the distance. "He's got a little boy about your age."

"Any particular reason he came to mind?" Jimmy asks.

"He's an ex-policeman."

Jimmy laughs a quiet sound of relief. "Oh. That's—that's fantastic, actually."

Scarlet keeps herself busy by watching the sights and sounds roll by outside the window, and Jimmy finds he's able to relax during the drive through Westminster. They stop in front of a quaint little house in the countryside. The front yard looks like a graveyard for old, junky cars, but aside from that the place looks well-kept. Robert leads them up the stone-paved walkway to the front door and rings the bell.

A bulky, bearded man answers the door and grins when he sees Robert. "There you are. And this must be Jimmy."

Jimmy smiles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr.—"

"Call me Bonzo, mate." He shakes Jimmy's hand and practically pulls him inside. "You just make yourself at home."

"Thank you so much. We really appreciate your hospitality."

"A friend of Robert's is a friend of ours," Bonzo says.

From the hallway, an attractive brunette approaches them with a smile. She's got an apron tied around her waist and appears to be a few months pregnant. "You're Jimmy? I'm Pat. It's so good to finally meet you," she says, shaking Jimmy's hand.

"You guys really enjoy having guests, don't you?" Jimmy's thankful for the warm welcomes, but it's like these people don't entertain ever.

Pat says, "We do when they're all Robert ever talks about."

Jimmy grins at the way Robert's face turns a hilarious shade of red. "You talk about me?" Jimmy asks, feigning innocence.

"Shut up," Robert grumbles.

Pat bends down to talk to Scarlet. "And you must be Scarlet. I've heard quite a lot about you."

Scarlet giggles. "Does Mr. Plant talk about me too?"

"Very much. Would you like to meet Jason?"

Scarlet nods, and Pat guides her down the hall and to the right, where Jimmy presumes the family room is.

Once they're alone, Bonzo looks at Robert and chuckles. "So, this is the Ice Lolly King I've heard so much about?"

Robert goes even redder and buries his face in his hands. "Oh my God..."

"That's what he used to call you before he actually started to fancy you," Bonzo tells Jimmy.

Jimmy's mouth quirks into a smile. "Should I be flattered?"

Bonzo says, "Well, he said it was 'cause you're cold as ice with a stick up your arse, so probably not."

Jimmy cannot help the laughter that bubbles out. He just  _can't_.

Robert punches Bonzo in the arm. "You promised you weren't going to embarrass me!"

Bonzo shrugs. "What can I say? I'm a sharer." He claps Robert on the shoulder. "And it'd probably help if you didn't talk about him so much."

Robert scowls at Bonzo with a look that could hold back a weather front.

Bonzo ignores Robert's contempt and looks at Jimmy. "There's a guest room upstairs if you want to get settled in before dinner."

"That'd be great. Thank you."

"I'll show you the way," Robert volunteers, taking Jimmy's hand and leading him up the staircase like an eager puppy.

"And no funny business, you two," Bonzo calls as they disappear up the stairs.

The guest room is on the right at the end of the hall. It looks pretty cozy. The bed's a little smaller than Jimmy's used to, but it's big enough for him and Scarlet, at least. The window has a lovely view of the back yard and the surrounding scenery. But Jimmy doesn't care about any of that right now. He drops onto the edge of the bed and drags a hand through his hair. His nerves feel like they've been stretched out on the rack all day.

Robert sits beside him, risks an arm around Jimmy's waist. Jimmy sinks into the touch and leans against him, needing comfort. "Do you think you'd feel better if you talked about it?"

He does. As new-age and goofy as it sounds, Jimmy thinks "unburdening" himself would do a hell of a lot of good right now. He doesn't know how to start or where to begin, doesn't know if he could get the words out, so he reaches into his pocket and digs out the note that started it all.

"I found this in my bedroom," he says.

Robert plucks the note from his fingers and reads. Jimmy doesn't watch Robert's face to see how he reacts, just stares at the shag carpet under his feet.

"Oh my God..." Robert says when he's finished.

"Someone was in my house," Jimmy spits out. "I don't—I don't know how they got in. I don't leave spare keys lying around."

"Does anyone besides us have a key?"

"Just Jonesy, and he wouldn't..." Jimmy shakes his head and trails off. Jonesy has been eliminated as a suspect.

Robert seems to understand. "Is there any reason why this person thinks Scarlet isn't your daughter?"

Jimmy tightens his fingers in his hair. "Maybe... Maybe Charlotte was unfaithful. It didn't have to be some long-standing affair. Just enough to get pregnant."

"Do you—do you think she would do that?"

"I don't know. What does it matter? Someone's been watching me long enough to know about you... Scarlet could be in danger."

Robert sighs and rubs the back of Jimmy's neck. "Always so concerned with everyone but yourself."

Jimmy takes back the note and reads it again, as if the words might rearrange into something different. "Why would they accuse me of killing her?" he chokes out. "I would never—I wasn't even driving that night. How could I have—"

Robert hugs him tighter and kisses the side of his face. "Hey, try not to think about it for a bit, okay? I know it's hard, but there's no use dwelling on it now. Dinner's almost ready anyway."

"Of course food's all you can think about," Jimmy says, not unkindly.

After dinner, while Robert's keeping Scarlet and Jason entertained, Jimmy takes Bonzo to the guest room and shows him the letter. "Can you make anything of this?" Jimmy asks, studying Bonzo's face as he reads the note. "Someone left it in my bedroom."

Bonzo scratches his beard. "Who has a key to your house?"

"Just me and Robert. And Jonesy. But he's not a suspect."

Bonzo looks doubtful, but he doesn't press the issue. "If you don't mind me asking, how did Charlotte die?"

"It was a car accident," Jimmy says, his voice sounding far away in his own ears. It's so hard to go back to that awful night, yet it seems as though he does it every night. "Charlotte was driving. The roads were wet. The brakes failed, and..." He can almost feel the crunch of impact, even five years later. "Charlotte was... There was nothing I could do for her. She was already..." His heart tumbles in his chest. "The impact broke her neck, so they don't think that she—that she suffered much."

Bonzo bows his head in a near-reverent way. "Do you have any enemies, Jimmy?"

"No one who would do something like this."

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" Bonzo says, his voice gentle. "Let's look at the facts: this person got into your house without being noticed, they've been watching you long enough to know about your relationship with Robert, and they dislike you enough to, one"—he holds up his index finger—"accuse you of killing your wife, and two"—another finger—"bring Scarlet's parentage into question. That sure as hell doesn't sound like a friend."

He's got a point, of course.

"Was anything stolen?"

"Not that I could tell."

"So, if this were some complete stranger," Bonzo continues, "why would they break into your house and not take anything?"

"I don't know."

"Which brings us back to the personal angle. Who do you know who would want to hurt you? Anybody who might not have you on their Christmas card list?"

"I haven't been very social since Charlotte died. You and Robert are the first new friends I've made in five years."

"So go back further, then. What about when Charlotte was alive? Maybe a jealous ex-boyfriend?"

Jimmy feels a jolt, as if he's been hit with a cattle prod. As horrible as it is, he can't help but think of a name. "No, no, he wouldn't—"

"Talk to me, Jim."

"Charlotte used to date a friend of mine before she met me. But I don't think he would—I mean, why  _now_? Why wait until five years later?"

"I need a name."

Jimmy hesitates, fearing that if he says the name aloud that will make all of this real. He drops his gaze to the carpet. "Jeff Beck. He was in the Yardbirds with me."

Bonzo's face gives away nothing. "Any particular reason this bloke comes to mind?"

"You said 'ex-boyfriend.'"

"Gotta be a better reason than that."

Jimmy wrings his hands. "Jeff was prone to a certain brand of"—he searches for the word—"jealousy. He was the lead guitar player, but after I joined he had to share the spotlight. But—he quit the band before things turned sour, I don't—"

"Sour how?"

"After Scarlet was born, I wanted to quit the band and devote my time to being a father. I enjoyed it, and I wanted to help Charlotte."

Bonzo sits back in his chair. "And I guess the rest of the blokes didn't like that?"

The idea that Jeff could have done this makes Jimmy's mind boggle. It's just not possible.

"Look, this is preposterous," Jimmy says, rising to his feet and pacing the floor. The carpet is soft and shaggy under his toes. "Why would Jeff wait this long? It's not as if he threatened my life or Robert's or Scarlet's."

Bonzo sighs and looks at the note again. "He addresses you by name, either to psych you out or to insinuate familiarity. He mentions three of the most important people in your life—that can't be a coincidence. 'You've changed' suggests that he knew you. He seems preoccupied with Scarlet, using words like 'worried' and suggesting she's not safe with you."

Jimmy feels gutted. "So, there's no chance this is some random nutter?"

Bonzo shakes his head and inspects the note again. "He starts off suggesting that you killed Charlotte, indicating displaced anger over her death. He mentions Robert just as frequently and draws parallels with Charlotte."

"You think he's upset that I'm dating someone else?"

Bonzo nods. "Highly possible. Of all the places he could have left the note, he left it on your bed. It's got to be someone who was in love with her. Do you remember anyone at the funeral who seemed suspicious?"

"I didn't go to the funeral," Jimmy admits, the words shaky in his throat. "After the accident, I was unconscious in the hospital for twelve days."

Bonzo draws in a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Jimmy wraps his arms around himself like he's cold. His brain feels frazzled and overworked. "I need a break."

"No problem." Bonzo hands the note back to Jimmy, slaps his palms on his thighs and stands up. "You did good."

Jimmy stores the note in his bag. He moves for the staircase, stops when he's in the doorway. "I know I've asked you too much already, but... I don't want to be alone tonight. It would mean a lot to me if you'd let Robert stay. But I understand if you don't—"

Bonzo pats him on the shoulder. "If it's alright with Robert, it's fine with me. I was just havin' a laugh with that 'no funny business' line."

Jimmy's exhausted by the time he gets Scarlet tucked into bed. Then again, so is Scarlet. She falls asleep with limited coaxing, which is good, because she's probably going to wake up when Jimmy and Robert try to squeeze themselves into the bed.

Robert appears in the doorway, smiling that awkward, unsure smile Jimmy's seen a hundred times before. Jimmy pads across the floor to speak with him in the hallway. "Bonzo says I should stay," Robert says softly.

Jimmy makes a face. "Were those his actual words?"

"He said you wanted me to." Robert shrugs as if there isn't any other answer.

"Only if that's what you want."

Robert huffs a breathy laugh that puffs a curl of hair out of his face. "What else am I going to do? C'mon, Pagey, you've been to my flat."

That's a depressing way to put it, but Jimmy understands. He moves closer, gets his hands full of Robert's borrowed t-shirt and buries his face in the dampness of his hair. An unfamiliar bouquet of bergamot and grapefruit drifts into his nose.

"You smell all wrong."

"I  _just_  took a shower," Robert protests.

"I didn't say you smell  _bad_ ," Jimmy says, because he thinks he's being misinterpreted. "It's just... different." He hadn't realized how accustomed he'd become to Robert's usual scent of smoky vanilla. Breathing him in felt like home. With everything in Jimmy's life turned topsy-turvy, he wishes at least one fragment remained familiar.

Jimmy pushes his fingertips underneath the hem of Robert's shirt. "So, you're staying, then?" he murmurs into Robert's neck.

"Of course."

Jimmy's fingers trace over the ridge of his hip bone, across the edge of his pajama pants. "How on earth did Bonzo have clothes that fit you?"

"I used to stay here, remember? I've got plenty of spare clothes in the bureau. Did you even look in there?"

Jimmy breathes laughter over the line of Robert's neck. "No, I didn't."

"Well, you should. You might find something. We're about the same size, right?"

"Mhm." Jimmy steps away from Robert's warmth, lets his hands drop to his sides. "I suppose it's my turn now."

After his shower, Jimmy too smells like bergamot and grapefruit. He and Robert manage to fit into the bed with minimal discomfort. Scarlet doesn't take up much room at all, so Jimmy burrows his way into Robert's embrace, and they fit together as though these are the spaces they were always meant to fill. Jimmy needs comfort now more than he has in a long while—the heat of Robert pressed against him, the reassuring way Robert loops his arms around Jimmy's waist, the fog of his breath in Jimmy's hair.

Maybe Robert doesn't smell the same, but he's here, and there's nowhere Jimmy would rather be than right alongside him and Scarlet.

* * *

Bonzo's cheery voice wakes Jimmy: "Either of you blokes joining us for breakfast?"

Jimmy sort of startles awake. He blinks his eyes open and sees Bonzo standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom. Scarlet's missing from the bed. Robert's still asleep, his arm curled around Jimmy in a protective sort of way.

Jimmy rubs his eyes and asks, "Where's Scarlet?"

"Downstairs," Bonzo says. He casts an amused look upon Robert's sleeping form. "Lazy old sod. Wake him up, would you? Or better yet, don't. He's got a despaired, 'I missed breakfast' face that has to be seen to be believed."

"We'll be down in a bit," Jimmy assures him. Bonzo takes the hint and leaves them alone. Jimmy pushes his fingers through Robert's mass of hair. "Are you going to sleep all day, darling, or just most of it?" Robert's not responding, so Jimmy moves in until his mouth's at Robert's ear and murmurs, "If you wake up, I'll do that thing you like with my tongue."

That gets Robert moving. "What's that about your tongue now?"

Jimmy laughs. "Oh, look who's awake."

Robert smiles, then abruptly looks as if he realizes Jimmy's teasing words were just a ruse. "You're a cruel man, Jimmy Page."

"I've been called worse," Jimmy says, brushing Robert's hair out of his face so he can kiss his forehead. "I'll see you downstairs, love."

After freshening up in the guest bathroom across the hall, Jimmy heads downstairs to join the others at the dining table. "There you are, Jimmy," Bonzo says as Jimmy takes a seat. "Will Robert be joining us?"

Jimmy nods. "He'll be here in a moment."

Over breakfast, Jimmy says to Bonzo, "Robert tells me you used to be a policeman."

Bonzo nods. "'S right. Birmingham City."

"I'm a little curious about the 'used to be' part of that sentence. Why did you retire? Or was the allure of auto repair too enticing for you?"

Jason answers that with an enthusiastic, "He got shot!"

A smattering of chuckles passes over the table. "Really?" Jimmy asks, intrigued.

"It's not as exciting as he makes it sound," Bonzo says. "Just grazed me." He points to a spot on his right shoulder.

"We're lucky it did," Pat says.

Bonzo gives her a conceding look. "Not that Pat wasn't a big factor in my leaving the force, but I didn't like the direction they were heading." He takes a bite of toast like the bread's personally offended him. "There was..." He pauses, as though collecting his thoughts. "Corruption. It started small, but then the dirty money came along. If I ever got offered any of it, well, let's just say that would've been bad for me. You hesitate, they think you might inform on them. So getting shot gave me the perfect excuse to leave."

Jimmy wonders if he had been right in not involving the police here. "Are you still on good terms with them?"

"I have a few mates on the up-and-up. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking... maybe we should pay a visit to the Surrey police station, take a look at the car. The accident seems to be the crux of all of this, wouldn't you say?"

Bonzo throws him a curious look. "The car wouldn't be in police custody," he says around a mouthful of eggs. "The wreck was ruled an accident. They probably auctioned it off after the fact."

Jimmy frowns. Well, that's a dead end.

"Why do you wanna see the car?"

Jimmy shrugs. "I just—I think it's a good idea to rule out foul play before we take the next step, you know? If something was tampered with, maybe—maybe that could give us a lead."

Bonzo's gone quiet, chewing in a way Jimmy finds particularly menacing.

"I have a distinct memory of the brakes failing," Jimmy says, an edge of desperation in his voice. "What if someone cut the brakes, and the police just didn't find it or report it?"

It's really amazing how someone can look so terrifying over a plate of eggs and breakfast meats.

Pat sighs at Bonzo's silent anger. "He could be right, you know."

Bonzo groans. "Pat, please."

"Besides, you know all about cars," she continues, unaffected by his lazy ire. "You'd know just what to look for."

Apparently Pat has magical powers of persuasion, because Bonzo makes an aggrieved noise and says, "I know a bloke who owes me a favor. I'll ring him and see if we can locate the car."

Jimmy grins. "Thank you, you're the greatest."

Bonzo does his best not to beam under the praise.


	14. Chapter 14

Jimmy's not too thrilled to return to the house that afternoon, but he doesn't want to impose on Bonzo any more than he already has. Scarlet's worried enough as it is, seeming to sense Jimmy's unease that evening as he tucks her into her bed after reading her a story. "What's wrong?" she asks, clutching one of her stuffed animals.

Jimmy wonders the best way to handle this one. He doesn't think lying will be beneficial, but he isn't sure she needs to know the truth. It will only worry her, despite his reassurances. A father's job is to protect. Scarlet is not old enough to handle the truth. Hell, Jimmy doesn't even think  _he's_  old enough.

What would Charlotte have done in this situation?

Jimmy takes a deep breath. "Nothing's wrong, love."

"How come we had a sleepover at Bonzo's house?"

He finds it oddly charming that she's taken to Bonzo and family so easily. "Because our house had to be sprayed for termites."

"What are termites?"

"They're little tiny bugs that live inside the walls and eat the wood there. A man comes by and sprays a special gas that makes the termites run away, but it smells bad and can make you really sick, so we had to spend the night at Bonzo's."

That sounds pretty believable, but does Scarlet buy it? Who knows?

Scarlet cuddles closer and nestles her face in Jimmy's neck. Jimmy holds her tighter, as though combating an invisible force. "You don't need to be scared, though," he says. "I won't let anything happen to you. Me and Mr. Plant love you very, very much, and we will keep you safe, no matter what." If there's nothing else he can do, he has to be capable of that much.

Scarlet nods, trusting him implicitly. But she's still five years old, so she says, "Will you stay?"

Jimmy smiles and kisses her on the forehead. "Of course." As much as he worries for his own life, for Robert's, it doesn't compare to the terror he feels for his daughter. Whatever the truth is, whoever is behind all of this, Jimmy knows he can bear it as long as he can protect Scarlet.

* * *

The next evening, Jimmy's in the middle of making dinner when the phone rings. "Hello?"

"I got a location on the car." It's Bonzo.

"Yeah? Are we in luck?"

"Maybe. I was right; it was auctioned off after the case was closed."

Jimmy wonders who the hell would buy something like that. "So who's the new owner?"

"The car was sold to a Roy Harper. He lives out of Soho."

"You think he'll talk to me?"

"Absolutely. I called him just a little while ago and made us an appointment." Brilliant idea. Bonzo, with his police training and knowledge of cars, will be a valuable second set of eyes here.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's weird. He seems excited about it. Maybe he's a fan."

"Of you or me?"

Bonzo gives a dry laugh.

"When's the appointment?"

"Anytime tomorrow. I figure we can drive over there while Scarlet's in school. That work for you?"

"That's perfect." Jimmy sighs in relief. "Thank you so much. I really owe you."

"Don't worry about it. You're practically family."

Jimmy freezes. "You haven't even known me a week."

"It's all Robert's fault," Bonzo says with a chuckle. "Besides, you've been really good for him. Ever since Karac... well, I did the best I could, but you helped him in ways I couldn't."

"Sixty-nine ways," Jimmy teases.

Bonzo grumbles, "God damn it."

* * *

"You're certain this is the right address?" Jimmy asks as Bonzo pulls into the driveway of Roy Harper's Soho flat. The building's squished between a row of lively pubs and shops, like an incongruent puzzle piece.

"This is the place, mate." Bonzo switches off the car and steps out. Jimmy follows, gawking at his surroundings. As much as he thinks about a quiet life in the countryside, there's something very electric and exciting about the city. Maybe that's just nostalgia talking, though, memories of his days spent in the epicenter of London when the Yardbirds were in full swing.

The cramped quarters of the building make Jimmy wonder where Roy Harper's keeping the car. Maybe he sold it off himself in the last five years. It's not parked on the street; Jimmy would recognize it.

Bonzo leads them to the door and knocks. Jimmy isn't sure what his expectations were, but Roy Harper defies all of them. He's a tall, wiry man about Jimmy's age. His hair is as long as Jimmy's own. He looks like a physical manifestation of the peace-and-love era.

Roy smiles when he sees Jimmy. "Jimmy Page," he says, like they're old friends. His gaze flickers to Bonzo. "You must be the police chap I spoke with. Come on in!"

Roy leads them into his flat. The inside of the apartment is all new-age hippie décor. Psychedelic posters of The Jimi Hendrix Experience and The Fairport Convention cover the walls. "I must say, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Page." He shakes Jimmy's hand; it's the slightest bit sweaty. Jimmy tries not to make a face.

"Always nice to meet a fan."

Roy's expression turns solemn. "I'm so sorry about what happened to Charlotte. My condolences."

Jimmy shuts his eyes in reverence. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions about the car."

"Certainly." Roy clears a collection of books and loose-leaf papers off of the sofa. "Have a seat, won't you?"

The three of them sit. Jimmy keeps a careful eye on Roy, watching his microexpressions. Mr. Profiler.

"What police force are you with, Mr. Bonham, is it?" Roy asks.

Bonzo nods and answers, "Birmingham City."

Roy lifts an eyebrow. "That faction's long gone."

How the hell does he know that?

If Bonzo's flustered by Roy's questions, he isn't showing it. "It is. I retired a few years ago."

Roy scratches his beard. "Even so, the wreck happened in Surrey. You wouldn't have had jurisdiction there. That's MPD's territory."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Jimmy wonders aloud. Mr. Profiler is now Mr. Impatient.

"I'm curious about Mr. Bonham's interest in the case, is all," Roy says. "What's he after?"

"It's what  _I'm_  after," Jimmy says. "He's here as a personal favor to me. The police aren't looking into this. This is my own personal investigation."

Roy drums his fingers on the tops of his knees. "And what are you investigating?"

Jimmy decides to just go for it. Maybe it'll shock Roy into talking. "I'm not entirely convinced the wreck was an accident."

Roy sits back in his seat, his eyes wide. "Really? What makes you say that?"

Jimmy isn't comfortable speculating aloud with this guy. He's well aware of how crazy it all sounds. There's no actual evidence that a crime has been committed. At best, this is just a bizarre, paranoid conspiracy theory. But Roy seems like the type to dig bizarre, paranoid conspiracy theories, and he's more likely to open up to Jimmy than Bonzo, especially if Jimmy's honest with him.

"Before the crash, I remember that the brakes failed. I guess I'm—I don't know—I want to be certain there wasn't any foul play involved."

"It's been five years," Roy says, like he's going somewhere with that.

Time for another truth nugget. "I received a letter in the post recently. The author accuses me of killing Charlotte. So maybe this is an attempt to exonerate myself of any blame. Or condemn myself with certainty."

"But you weren't driving, Mr. Page. She was, and she chose to do so in her condition—"

"What  _condition_?"

Roy blinks in surprise. "She was drunk, mate."

Jimmy's hands tighten into fists. "You believe that shit?" he growls, fury boiling in his blood. "That's a lie the papers created. The only thing the media loves more than a senseless tragedy is one where they can slander the victims." Jimmy stands up and storms for the door. "We're leaving, Bonz'."

"Wait," Roy protests. "You didn't know, did you? The papers didn't make that up. It's in the official coroner's report."

Jimmy whirls to look at him. "What?"

"I have a copy. You can see for yourself if you don't believe me."

The room goes quiet for a moment, then Bonzo says, "Why do you have a copy of the coroner's report?"

Good fucking question.

Roy heads over to a neatly-organized desk and opens a drawer. "I'm a big fan of music, obviously. And I've got an interest in true crime. Sometimes those interests collide."

Jimmy cringes at the phrasing. "Maybe you ought to find new interests."

"If I hadn't taken an interest in your accident, you wouldn't be here now," Roy says, casually, digging through the drawer.

A fair point.

"So, what, you collect artifacts from crime scenes?" Bonzo asks, clearly disturbed by the practice.

"I suppose that's a fair way of putting it. Some of us collect vehicles, weapons, clothes, personal artifacts of the victim or perpetrator."

Either this dude has multiple personalities, or he's implying that there's more of these people out there.

"Why the bloody hell would you want to do that?" Good ol' Bonzo.

"Collecting religious relics is odd, isn't it? But no one seems to bat an eye about that," Roy says. "Same goes for celebrity memorabilia. It's not uncommon a belief that something owned by a person could contain his or her essence."

Bonzo glances at Jimmy as if to say, "He's not batting on a full wicket."

Sadly, Jimmy kind of understands the thinking there. "Relics are believed to hold power and control. Superstition is prominent in many human societies. I myself collect some of Crowley's artifacts."

Roy smiles. "So you understand."

Jimmy thinks there's a fine line between collecting memorabilia of a writer and collecting objects with such a strong connection to death and murder. But he's not going to waste any more time thinking about it. Glass houses and whatnot.

Jimmy steps closer to Roy. "Let me see the report."

Roy hands it over. Something stabs deep into Jimmy's chest and splinters off. His gaze trips over words like "hemorrhagic," "fracture," and "contusion." Even five years later, he still remembers every detail of that night, and it all comes back in an awful gush. He turns the page with a shaky hand, horrified by what he might find there, and the impact jars him in a new direction. The toxicology report lists that a blood sample was taken. Charlotte's blood alcohol content was found to be 0.09% at time of death.

"No, there's no way..."

Bonzo lays a hand on Jimmy's shoulder and peers at the report. He doesn't speak, just does that judgemental quiet thing he's so good at.

"She couldn't have had that much," Jimmy says, breathless. "Even if she had, who knows how she would have fared if the brakes didn't go out?"

"There's always room for error," Bonzo says.

"Lab testing errors can skew the results," Roy says, trying to be helpful. "And micro-organisms involved in putrefaction can produce alcohol."

Roy's still talking, but Jimmy isn't listening, ensnared in the whirlwind of his own thoughts. Does this new information change anything? Not really. Charlotte wrecked because the brakes failed, not because she was drunk—which she wasn't, Jimmy knows it in his bones. But if she had been drinking, that could have allowed the police to cut corners on the investigation.

He's got to check out the car and see for himself. If the vehicle wasn't tampered with, fine, he'll go on with his life. But until he knows all, he can never let this go. The proverbial itch will eventually need to be scratched. Jimmy doesn't have the discipline to stay away forever.

"I need to see the car."

* * *

Roy's got the car hidden away in a storage locker on the other side of town. As Roy's opening the door, Bonzo turns to Jimmy and says, "You know you don't have to be here for this, right? This is why you wanted me to come with you."

Jimmy shakes his head. "I've flinched away from this whole ordeal for the past five years. I need to put it behind me."

Bonzo shrugs and says, "Suit yourself, mate."

The door opens with a screech of metal. Inside the locker, the battered remains of the car sit untouched and officially dead. It looks like the Hulk smashed his fist through the front end, then stomped on the thing a few times for good measure. Jimmy swallows down the lump in his throat.

"Well?" he says to Bonzo, because Bonzo's the expert here. Jimmy's knowledge of cars goes about as far as knowing where the fuel nozzle goes.

Bonzo knows how to take a cue. He moves for the car, and Roy comes over to join Jimmy as an onlooker.

"What are you hoping to find?" Roy asks.

Hell of a question. Does Jimmy want to find evidence of foul play? Does he really want to learn someone wanted to kill his lovely fiancée? Maybe not, but he doesn't like the other option either: that all of this was just a tragic accident. That seems too random and cruel, something Jimmy can't just accept.

Jimmy teases Robert about his goofy, dreamer vibe, but Robert's more of a realist than Jimmy gives him credit for. Robert accepts the bitchslap of misfortune for what it is and does his best to move on; he's not trying to prove Karac's death was anything more than an accident.

Then again, Robert didn't get a letter accusing him of killing his son. So there's that.

Jimmy responds to Roy's question with, "Answers. Whatever I find, I can live with it. But if someone tampered with the car and killed her, I can't let that go unpunished." Justice for Charlotte would alleviate the fuck out of his guilt complex; Jimmy won't deny that's a motivation here.

Bonzo calls for Jimmy, and he sounds like a doctor informing a patient he's about to die. Jimmy walks to the driver's side where Bonzo's digging around underneath the wheel well. "What is it?"

"Looks like you were right. The brake line's been cut."

Jimmy fears his legs might give out beneath him. "What?"

"I'm astounded that we're the first ones to discover this," Bonzo says, rage tinting his voice. "Why wasn't this in the report?" He huffs an angry snort like a cartoon bull.

The shoddy policework makes sense, in a weird way. The roads were slippery, it was night time, both Charlotte and Jimmy had alcohol in their system. Add onto that old-fashioned police bias—"just some long-haired rock star and his groupie"—and it's not too much of a stretch to believe the investigation stopped there.

Neither of them say anything for a while, letting the silence ferment and solidify. After a moment, Jimmy swallows thickly and says, "So what do we do now?"

* * *

Jimmy has delayed the inevitable for too long. If he wants any sort of answers, he needs to bridge the five-year chasm and reach out to the other Yardbirds members. But Jimmy has never been good at reaching out, especially when time has pretty much weathered to dust whatever tenuous connection he once had. Just as Jimmy himself has changed over the years, so have the other Yardbirds. Each of them moved on and continued with their lives, getting involved in new projects, creating a family, or both. No one called or stopped by to include him, or maybe they did and Jimmy shut them out, still shivering through the early stages of grief.

Chris was happy to see him, though, and Jimmy hopes maybe the others will be too. This might be easier than he thinks: whoever wrote that note clearly dislikes Jimmy, so he won't be too thrilled when Jimmy calls him up for a chat.

At the top of the suspect list is Jeff Beck, as much as Jimmy hates to admit it. Although Jeff doesn't seem like he'd commit a crime involving quiet planning, he does have the greatest motive: jealousy. Mum's earlier comment about Jeff's crush on Jimmy certainly doesn't help matters either. If her intuition is true, Jeff could have been jealous of Jimmy or  _Charlotte_.

So, Jeff is obviously the first person Jimmy ought to consult about this whole mess.

After leaving the storage locker, Bonzo stops at a gas station to fuel up his car. Jimmy takes this opportunity to use a nearby payphone and place a call to Jeff. Inside his wallet is the folded-up piece of paper Chris gave him with the Yardbirds' phone numbers and addresses. He dials Jeff's number and waits.

Jeff answers after three rings, and the sound of his voice is like a loaded gun. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Jimmy. Jimmy Page."

"Jim? How are you? It's been ages!" Jimmy searches Jeff's voice for the rebuke he's certain is there, or the lame attempt at forcing enthusiasm, but he doesn't detect either. Jeff seems to be utterly sincere, happy to hear from him.

"Yeah, it has..."

"So, what's the occasion?" Jeff asks. "Catching up on old times, or planning a reunion?"

"Catching up."

"After five years?"

Jimmy shrugs. "I've been busy."

"I bet. Kids are a handful. How many've you got now?"

"Just the one," Jimmy says. "Scarlet. She's five."

"Wow, time flies, doesn't it?"

"Not from where I'm standing." Jimmy can feel every day of the five years they haven't been in touch. Before this conversation goes off to wherever conversations go to die, Jimmy says, "I was wondering if you wanted to meet for lunch, y'know, if you're not too busy."

"That'd be great," Jeff says, sounding surprised but not displeased by Jimmy's sudden extroversion. "It'll be good to see you again."

"Yeah."

"There's a pub 'round my place where we can meet, unless you've got someplace else in mind."

"No, that's fine. I'll be there in about an hour or so."

Jeff gives him the address, and they say their stilted, awkward goodbyes. Jimmy doesn't think Jeff sees their impending reunion as an obligation, but he knows that doesn't really mean anything in the scheme of things. Either way, he's making progress.

Jimmy heads back to the car and slides into the passenger seat. Bonzo's drumming his fingers on the steering wheel along with the music on the radio. "Keeping yourself entertained, I see," Jimmy says.

"Somebody has to. You get a new lead?"

Jimmy shrugs. "Maybe. I'm meeting Jeff in an hour."

"Well, I'm not your fuckin' chauffeur, Page," Bonzo says, good-naturedly.

"I know. Just take me home." Jimmy offers him a ten pound note to sweeten the pot.

Bonzo just stares at him. "You know it's a crime to bribe a police officer?"

Jimmy stuffs the note into the front pocket of Bonzo's shirt. "It's not a bribe. I'm paying you back for the fuel."

"When you put it that way..."

Bonzo takes a scenic, country road on the way back to Jimmy's house, which gives him an excuse to press a little heavier on the gas pedal than usual. Jimmy stays rigidly still in the passenger seat, as though the slightest movement might cause the vehicle to spin out of control. "Did you, by chance, happen to teach Robert to drive?"

Bonzo laughs, unaffected by the way the world's zipping by outside the windows. "I might've given him a lesson or two."

"That explains so much."

"Pussy," Bonzo snorts with a grin.

"I think I've got damn good justification."

"Well, you still drive, don't you?"

Jimmy's staring at the speedometer, willing the needle to budge in the other direction. "Usually the needle isn't pointing at me when I do, but yes."

"So you knew, deep down in that logical part of your brain, that the world spins on, and you gotta pull yourself up and do what needs to be done."

Jimmy swallows, his heart thumping madly in his chest. Forget a car wreck—he's going to die of a massive coronary right here. "And how does driving like a maniac factor in to that, exactly?"

"You know the best way to conquer your fears? Face 'em head on." Graciously, Bonzo eases up on the accelerator, and while he's still going a bit too fast for Jimmy's liking, the drop in speed is a relief of sorts. "That bullet only grazed my shoulder, but a couple inches' difference and I might not be here today."

Jimmy risks a glance out the window; the trees rush by as the tires churn against the gravelly, unpaved road.

"Facin' your own mortality, one of two things happens," Bonzo continues. "Either you become a total pussy, or everything comes into focus in a way it never has before. You can guess which one happened to me. I realized what's important and what isn't, how much time we waste, all the dumb bullshit that holds us back from taking chances."

Jimmy nods, considering that. "Or you could argue that, by being a total pussy, one realizes how precious life is and avoids certain situations in order to preserve it."

"Nah, that's just being practical."

"How do you make that distinction?"

"Pussies let fear rule their decision-making. I'm not afraid of getting burned, but I'm not gonna put my hand on a hot burner, because that's a stupid-arse thing to do."

"Sounds like you just reworded your motivations there."

"Nah, see, 'cause a pussy would be too afraid to switch the burner on in the first place. Hell, he probably would'a got rid of the stove."

"Was Robert a pussy?" Jimmy asks, swinging the conversation into a new direction.

Bonzo sort of shrugs. "Not really. He didn't want to be alone, so he stayed with me and put himself in a position where he'd be forced to deal with what he lost. It wasn't always easy for him, and I'll admit I didn't tell him what he wanted to hear, but rarely was he ever too scared to do something."

Listening to this makes Jimmy feel like an interloper, intruding on Robert's private pain. But he also feels a bit envious of Robert's acceptance of his own tragic circumstances, because Robert picked himself up within mere months of his tragedy, where Jimmy's had five years, yet he's still staggering like a baby deer learning to walk. He wants to be better, wants to be capable of Robert's endearing optimism that makes Jimmy dream impossible things.

Jimmy doesn't hassle Bonzo about his speed for the rest of the drive.


	15. Chapter 15

Jimmy walks into the pub and spots Jeff almost immediately. He's sitting near the back of the joint, nursing a pint of something alcoholic. Jeff hasn't seen Jimmy yet, and Jimmy fights the overwhelming urge to duck out of the building and hide until his stomach stops its nervous acrobatics. Instead, he gathers his breath for a terrifying handful of seconds and sits across from Jeff at the table.

"Page," Jeff says with genuine warmth, as though Jimmy's a returning prodigal son. The two men share something profound in their silence before Jeff says, "You look like shit."

Jimmy laughs, and it's comfortable for a few seconds, like old times. "It's been a rough week." He wonders how to start. It's probably not a good idea to go with, "Did you cut the brakes on my car five years ago?" as an opening gambit. Best to save that one for later. Or never.

"You want a drink?" Jeff asks, lifting his own bottle before taking a sip.

"No, thanks."

Jeff looks stunned by Jimmy's refusal. "Never thought I'd see the day Jimmy Page refuses a drink."

Jimmy half-smiles, not at the joke, but because of it.

"How've you been? I mean, really."

"I'm doing better now," Jimmy says, as though the last few years are insignificant. "I, um..." He rubs a hand through the back of his hair. Should he float the topic of meeting someone new? If Jeff sent the letter, he already knows about Jimmy's current dating status. This could either goad Jeff into revealing something incriminating, or it could be a total fucking disaster.

Jimmy doesn't think Jeff will do anything too horrible in a public place. And while Jeff's involvement in all of this is still sort of a question mark, Jimmy's fairly certain he's not homophobic.

So Jimmy says, "I started seeing someone recently. As in, y'know, dating."

Jeff smiles and says, "Oh yeah? What's she like?" as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, she's a bloke, so that's fun."

Jeff blinks way too many times, and, okay, you can't fake the stunned disbelief he's going through now. "You're joking."

"Not a bit," Jimmy says, watching for Jeff's face to betray his words. "We've been seeing each other for a few months now. It's gotten fairly serious."

"Oh my God... Are you—No, you're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Can't say that I am."

"Have you always liked blokes, or is this a recent development?"

Jimmy isn't really sure how to answer that one. "Recent, I suppose. Though it wasn't something I had to struggle with, so that probably says a great deal about me."

Jeff's face falls in a tragic sort of way, and he makes a noise that might be an amused chuckle. "Oh my God." He drops his head back against the booth and laughs to himself. "Damn it, I knew I should have..."

"Should have what?"

Jeff takes a long drink before answering that. "I knew I should have asked you out ages ago."

Jimmy's mouth drops open without any noise coming out. "Mum was right!"

He doesn't realize he's said that out loud until Jeff gives him a look. "What?"

"My mother may have mentioned something about you liking me as more than a friend, but I thought she was just going mad, y'know, reading into things that weren't there." Jimmy laughs. It takes him a moment to fully process this. "Wow, that's... Why?"

Jeff rolls his eyes, but there's no anger there, just confusion and defensiveness. "Don't act so surprised. You've already got one bloke who fancies you, and he's just the one you know about."

"But this is  _you_!" Jimmy's genuinely having trouble wrapping his head around this.

Jeff looks like he's regretting everything in his entire life. "It was a long time ago."

"You mean you don't—you don't feel that way about me anymore?"

"That's not exactly what I said," Jeff mumbles.

Jimmy tries desperately not to have any sort of reaction to that. "Wow." This is huge. "Even though you said I look like shit?" Now he's just being a smart-ass.

"Didn't you ever tease the girls you liked when you were in school?"

"I thought only the arseholes did that."

Jeff spreads his hands as though making a point.

"I'm enough of a prick on my own, and, can I be honest?"

"Only if you're gonna say something nice."

"We couldn't exactly get along when we were in the Yardbirds. Dating each other would probably end violently, or at least with some very bruised egos."

"How was that nice?"

Jimmy wonders what his life might have been like had Jeff told him this sooner. Would he be happy? He can't imagine a world without Scarlet, but maybe he doesn't have to. What if Jeff tracked him down after the accident and appropriated Jonesy's role? Jimmy tries to picture himself with Jeff, but he just  _can't_. The image won't hold. He isn't sure what that means, if it means anything at all.

"I shouldn't have said anything about it," Jeff says, peeling at the label on the beer bottle.

Jimmy shakes his head. "No, it's alright. You needed to get it off your chest, I suppose. Who knows how many years you've been sitting on that one?"

Jeff glares at him. "Don't gloat. You're insufferable when you do that."

"Oh, I think I've earned it."

They fall into the comfort zone of their usual teasing, and it's almost as if the five-year chasm of silence never happened. Jimmy keeps Jeff company for a while, splits a basket of fish and chips with him. As Jimmy's rising to leave, he says, "For what it's worth, I wish you would have said something back then."

Jeff gives him a bewildered look, as though he didn't expect Jimmy to bring the topic up again. But he doesn't try to escape the conversation, so Jimmy thinks that's a good sign.

"I don't know what kind of answer I would have given you, but we were best mates. I would never have stopped being your friend because you thought about me that way." Jimmy thinks that needs to be said, because his chest feels heavy, weighted down with the guilt of Jeff's admission. Jeff carried these feelings around for years without any sort of closure. Jimmy owes him at least that much.

Jeff shrugs like it's all water under the bridge. "Thanks, Page. If you and your bloke ever split, you know where to find me."

Jimmy chuckles. "It was good seeing you again."

He's fairly confident he can exclude Jeff as a suspect. Jeff's shock at learning Jimmy's sexuality dismisses him as the author of the note, and Jeff probably wouldn't kill Charlotte so Jimmy could be with him if he assumed Jimmy was straight.

Five to go.

* * *

"You look a little worse for the wear," Robert says when Jimmy walks into the classroom later that afternoon to pick up Scarlet. It's impossible not to notice how devastatingly beautiful Jimmy is, even when he hasn't slept in days. He's a little paler today than usual, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. Somehow, his imperfections—if you could call them that—only make him more real, more desirable.

"You're the second person who's told me that today," Jimmy says. He rubs a hand over his faintly-stubbled chin. "I probably should've shaved this morning, but I was in a bit of a rush."

"I noticed. You barely said a word to me." Robert's not too fond of how needy and whiny that sounds, but whatever.

"'M sorry, I had an appointment."

The word snags his attention. "Bad news?"

"I'll tell you about it later."

Later comes as Robert and Jimmy sit outside, enjoying the fading afternoon light on Jimmy's back porch. While Jimmy was out with Bonzo, Jonesy apparently brought a dog home for the girls. Scarlet pleaded with Jimmy to let her play with it, presented a pretty detailed argument for a five-year-old about how, if she can't have a puppy, that she ought to be allowed to play with the neighbors' dog. Jimmy relented, because keeping her occupied gives him a chance to talk to Robert about the day's events, and there's no reason for Scarlet to overhear any of it.

"So what's going on with you?" Robert asks, scrunching his face up a bit as the smoke from Jimmy's cigarette drifts towards him.

"It wasn't an accident," Jimmy says, sounding far away. His usually clear and controlled eyes are blank, lifeless. "Someone cut the brakes on my car that night."

"Oh God..." Robert doesn't even know what to say to that. "Pagey..."

"I talked to Jeff, but I don't think it was him. I guess I'll ring the rest of the guys tomorrow and see what happens."

"You think they're just going to confess?"

Jimmy snorts a humorless laugh. "I don't know. Maybe someone'll get dodgy or defensive. Or they won't be as surprised as they ought to be when I tell them I'm dating a man."

"So you're outing yourself to people you haven't seen in years in hopes of finding your fiancée's killer?" Jimmy sort of nods. "Charlotte was a very lucky woman."

"Not that lucky," Jimmy says, because he's a Negative Nancy at his core.

Robert sighs. "Pagey." Jimmy takes a long pull off his cigarette, and Robert watches the smoke flow past his lips when he exhales. "How'd you get to be such a drag?"

"A high level of discipline, and absolute commitment."

"Just imagine if you focused all that energy on positivity instead."

"I can't stress how not up for this I am right now."

"Too bad. If you wait until you're ready, you'll never be ready."

"Save your breath. Bonzo and I already had this pep talk."

Robert steals the cigarette from Jimmy's fingers; if Jimmy minds, he doesn't show it. "Not the best at cheering people up, is he?"

"Not really, no."

Robert sucks on the cigarette as twilight falls over the yard. The trees are barren, still caught in the clutches of winter. Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at Jimmy and sees a tear roll down his cheek. "You know I'm here if you need anything, right?"

Jimmy nods. He lays his head on Robert's shoulder, turns his face into Robert's neck, and quietly starts to cry.

* * *

Jimmy spends most of Tuesday weeding out the more inconspicuous members of the Yardbirds: Chris Dreja and Jim McCarty. Jimmy doesn't actually think Chris could possibly have had a hand in Charlotte's death or the angry letter, but to be fair, Chris was the only one who came to Jimmy's house recently and who knows about Robert, so he's probably worth a phone call.

Jim McCarty doesn't answer his phone. His address is someplace in Stratford, and Jimmy doesn't feel like driving all the way out there. What would he say anyway? "I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and I thought after five years I'd randomly show up at your door looking to catch up on old times. By the way, did you cut the brakes on my car?" Yeah, probably not.

If Jimmy looks at this rationally, he knows investigating Dreja and McCarty is a waste of time. He's got to take a closer look at the big-name players, because with big names come big egos. Maybe someone wasn't too happy with Charlotte's decision to marry Jimmy. Maybe someone wanted Charlotte for himself.

Peter Grant and Richard Cole are scary motherfuckers, so Jimmy decides to attack the more approachable member of the group: Keith Relf.

On Wednesday, Jimmy makes the drive down to Kingston while Scarlet's in school. Keith Relf lives in an apartment building that looks like it might topple over if you pushed against its walls. The complex is tucked behind a row of barren trees and a field encroaching from the west, not too far from the river Thames.

Jimmy's currently experiencing the world through the fucked-up lens of zero-hours sleep a night, so he's in a hallucinogenic state of consciousness where things are just off enough to register as strange to the fourth of a brain cell firing in his head. Noises seem to separate and detach, the ringing in his ears sounding as though someone cranked up the volume knob. Colors bleed and blur, the simple motion of walking seemingly too fast for the world to catch up to. His limbs feel like they aren't quite connected.

He is, put simply, terrifically fucked up.

Jimmy walks through the main entrance and locates the proper flat. He knocks on the door. Keith answers with a stunned expression. "Page," he sighs out, like Jimmy is the last person he wants to see. His skin is ghostly pale, his hair thin and tired. His eyes have sunken into their sockets. He is a shipwreck of a man, and Jimmy stifles a scream at the sight of him.

"It's been a while." Jimmy tries to smile, but he's taken aback by how awful Keith looks.

"Yeah, it has."

The odor of marijuana, booze, and something unidentifiable wafts through the open door, a stench thick enough to slice like a Bundt cake. It almost knocks Jimmy back a step. "Can I come in?"

"Sure. You want a drink?"

"No, thanks."

The interior of Keith's flat is disorderly and blandly decorated. Jimmy spots a few photographs of Keith from his Yardbirds days displayed atop various surfaces. There's not much to look at, though, so Jimmy takes a seat on the arm of the couch. "What have you been up to lately?" he asks.

"Oh, you know, this and that," Keith says, deflecting the question. He emerges from the kitchen with a bottle of beer and drops onto the couch beside Jimmy. "What about you? How've you been?"

"Ups and downs. But things have gotten much better lately."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

Jimmy watches Keith's face for clues. "I, uh, I've been seeing someone."

A small quake runs through Keith. "Really? Well, I'm happy for you. You deserve it." He takes a long drink from the bottle. "What's she like?"

"Funny, loving, wonderful with kids, amazing in the sack..." Hey, it's true.

Keith makes a face and tries to hide it by taking another drink.

"What? What's that face for?"

"I don't want to know the crude details of your  _relationship_." He says it with an edge that makes Jimmy's skin prickle.

"Didn't used to be that way."

"Things were different then." There's that edge again.

"You don't have to be lonely, you know," Jimmy says, because he thinks that's why Keith's copping an attitude here. "You could get out and make a go of it."

Keith scoffs. "I'm not like you, Page."

"I was lost for a long time too. But I found my way back." Jimmy leans in. His eyes keep finding the odd, merlot-colored liver spots on the pasty flesh of Keith's neck. "What happened to you? Who hurt you?"

Keith shakes his head. "Why are you here? As much as I'm enjoying our little chat, I know you didn't drop by just to gloat about how wonderful your life is now."

Jimmy isn't sure he likes how passive-aggressive Keith's being here, but whatever. "Alright, well, this might sound a bit odd, but I'm investigating something. I got a letter that accused me of killing Charlotte. So I started digging, and I discovered that someone cut the brakes on the car that night."

Keith shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn't me."

"Well, you were in the band with me. You knew Charlotte. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

"Jeff's probably the best person to ask about that," Keith says, taking another drink.

"I already spoke with him. He left the band years before Charlotte's death. And he didn't exactly have a motive." Jimmy's going to keep Jeff's crush a secret here. No reason Keith needs to know about that.

Keith considers this for a moment. "He did introduce you two, though. He might've been upset about how it all turned out."

Jimmy shakes his head. "Trust me, he's not involved. I've already eliminated Chris and McCarty. You're the last one left before I go on to Peter Grant and Richard Cole."

Keith's eyes widen, his posture stiffening as if he's been hit by a bolt of lightning. "Grant and Cole? Why would you go to them?"

"I'm grasping at straws here, Keith," Jimmy says, shutting his eyes and dragging a hand through his hair. When he opens his eyes again, the world seems hazier and more abstract than it did seconds ago. "Maybe they know something. They were backstage with us. They might have known someone who had gotten close to Charlotte."

"You were about as close as anybody could get," Keith says, snide.

Jimmy decides to stop this dance. "What the fuck is your deal? Is it because I haven't come 'round the last few years? I'm sorry, but I've been busy dealing with things."

"And taking up gardening, it seems."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jimmy shakes his head. Who cares? Keith is drunk and angry and probably a dead end. This is a waste of time. Jimmy slides off the arm of the couch and finds his legs. "Never mind. I'll just talk to Grant."

"I don't think you wanna go poking around in Grant and Cole's business," Keith says, and there's something in his voice that snags Jimmy's attention. "You know how they are." He takes a deep, hard gulp from the bottle.

"I'm a big boy, Keith. I can take care of myself." Jimmy studies the way Keith's face is trying very hard not to react to this conversation. Even in his sleep-starved state, he can sense something is amiss. "What do you know?"

"I don't know anything," Keith answers a little too quickly. "I just don't want you getting mixed up with those two. If they don't like you digging around in old business, they'll make sure you don't. Know what I mean?"

"Yes, I'm well aware of their persuasive techniques. But all I'm trying to do is bring Charlotte's killer to justice. If you know something that could—"

Keith slams the bottle on the table. "Why do you give a shit? You're just doing this so you can fuck your new bloke with a clean conscience," he sneers, and all the snide comments he's been making today snap into place.

"It was you?" Jimmy's up, his hands full of Keith's shirt as he tugs him to his feet. "You son of a bitch! I loved her more than anything!"

Keith scoffs a laugh, which rattles Jimmy, because people generally don't laugh when you're up in their face. "She didn't love you, mate. Scarlet's the only reason she agreed to marry you."

"Fuck you. What do you know about her?"

"More than you'd think. Who do you think she was with all those nights you went off on your own?"

A flash of rage engulfs Jimmy. He snaps his fist into Keith's face. Blood spurts, and Keith falls to the ground. Jimmy's never been much of a fighter, and watching Keith cradle his nose like it's a wounded animal ends the fight as quickly as it began.

Jimmy moves closer to offer help, but Keith scrambles away from him, blood pouring from his nose through his fingers. "No! Stay away." It's amazing how much a beaten man looks like a little boy.

"I'm not going to hit you again. You have to stop the bleeding."

"I know, just—just stay away."

Jimmy fetches a dishrag from the kitchen and sort of tosses it at Keith. Keith picks it up in his non-bloodied hand and uses the rag to stanch the flow. Keith's brow creases, his lower lip trembling. Jimmy wants to reach out but isn't sure if that's the best move here.

"Is your hand okay?" Keith asks.

Jimmy looks at his right hand, still clenched into a fist. "Knuckles are a bit bruised, but I'll live." A guy who relies on his hands for a living probably shouldn't throw closed-fist punches.

Keith sighs in what sounds like relief.

"Don't try to side-track me," Jimmy says, getting them back on topic. "What did you mean by 'more than you'd think'?"

"Charlotte and I had an affair," Keith admits. His voice sounds lost and far away.

Jimmy's never been shot, but this is probably what it feels like. The floor drops out from under him. It's like the accident all over again; one second his world is one way, then a life-changing snap of reality steals it all away.

For a moment, Jimmy can't speak. When he regains the ability to form words, he asks, "Why? When? How did..."

"It was during our last tour. You brought her along, remember?"

Jimmy flinches as if the words formed a cocked fist. Is Keith trying to blame him for the affair, insinuate that if Jimmy made Charlotte stay back in England this wouldn't have happened?

"It was her idea," Keith says, and, oh man, does Jimmy want to deck him again. "She couldn't find you, so she came to me, asked if I wanted to party."

"Oh, that's nice, blame it on her. It's not as if she's here to defend herself," Jimmy growls. He paces the floor. If he doesn't dispel this negative energy he'll punch Keith again, and this time he won't stop himself.

"It's the truth," Keith insists. "We went back to my hotel room, smoked, drank, the usual fare."

Jimmy's blood boils. The usual fare for Keith involves hard drugs, and if he gave Charlotte anything more than marijuana...

Keith continues, "She kissed me first."

Jimmy feels the lump in his throat and tries to make it go away. "It takes two, Keith. Why didn't you stop her?"

Keith shakes his head. "I didn't want to. I figured she had her reasons. Maybe you weren't treating her right and it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. And I liked her, Page. I'm not proud of any of this, but you wanted to know."

Jimmy doesn't respond, just watches the bloodstains spread across the once-white dishrag. Keith gets to his feet and staggers over to the couch.

"After that night, I thought it was a one-time thing, y'know, that maybe it only happened 'cause of the alcohol and the drugs," Keith says. "But when she kept coming back..."

Jimmy can't understand why. Charlotte wanted to go along with the band on that tour to be closer to Jimmy. But that had been a lie, hadn't it? If she didn't love Jimmy anymore, why would she give him a child?

Unless...

Jimmy does the math in his head. The '69 tour started at the beginning of the year; it's not implausible that she could have gotten pregnant by Keith.

The betrayal just grows and grows.

"How long were you two"—Jimmy chokes on the word—"together?"

"A little over a year."

That's a full-fledged relationship. Christ, Charlotte and Keith had an  _anniversary_. Jimmy's wondering how they might have spent it, where they counted from, when Keith says, "She put a stop to it a little while after Scarlet was born. She said it was the right thing to do. And seeing how happy you were with the baby... Well, you know how women get with the hormones and all."

"How did you keep this a secret so long?"

Keith shrugs. "Yeah, we deceived you, but you also didn't want to see."

Jimmy rolls his eyes. "'Didn't want to see'? Fuck you."

"It takes two, Page, remember? I didn't seduce her. She came to me. She was lonely and angry and lost, and you did that to her, not me."

"Fuck you!" Jimmy snaps, harder this time. He paces the floor with angry strides. "So what if she came on to you? You didn't have to let her!"

"I told you, I was weak. She was beautiful, I'm human."

Jimmy scrubs a hand through his hair and exhales a ragged breath. "God, how could you do this to me? I thought we were friends." He hates the way his voice breaks around the words.

Keith meets Jimmy's gaze again; his eyes are dazed and hazy. "I'm sorry, Page. Really, I am. I wish you didn't have to find out this way."

Every word out of Keith's mouth is like a match sizzling on Jimmy's skin. Jimmy stares him down. "Did you kill her? Maybe you didn't like her getting back with me. After all, Scarlet could be your daughter, right? Maybe finding out I proposed pushed you over the edge."

"No! I loved Charlotte!" Keith cries, looking distraught. "I would never hurt her! You've got to believe me!"

"Why should I? It's not as if you've had a habit of being honest with me," Jimmy snaps. He turns to leave, then, as if remembering something: "Oh, just so you know,  _my bloke_  fucks me every night and I love it. I suck his cock like a cheap whore. Have fun thinking about that, you fucking homophobic, back-stabbing piece of shit."

Jimmy stalks to his car, angry tears sheeting down his cheeks. He longs for the numbness as the edges of the hole in his chest begin to ache. Jimmy came here expecting answers, and now he's leaving with even more questions.

He gets into his car and allows himself a few moments of weakness. He curls over the steering wheel, tries to breathe without lungs.

 _Charlotte and I had an affair_. The words rip through Jimmy, shredding his composure. He expected this kind of recklessness from Keith, but Charlotte? If she was unhappy, why couldn't she tell Jimmy about it instead of running off to find comfort elsewhere? What did Keith give her that Jimmy couldn't?

His anger distracts him from the pain, and the sobs racking his lungs ebb. Keith's idiotic behavior has an excuse: he's an idiot. But Charlotte? What's her excuse? What had gone so wrong in their relationship that she couldn't even talk to Jimmy about it? What justifies callous, cruel infidelity? Keith didn't have to let her cheat, but Charlotte came after him, and that's the part Jimmy can't get past.

All this time Jimmy's been agonizing over falling for Robert, sick with guilt that his newfound love is a betrayal to Charlotte, when Charlotte's betrayed him over and over. Jimmy trusted her implicitly. She was supposed to be his safe harbor.

Something in his mind snaps like a dry twig. Jimmy pulls onto the road and drives without really seeing, as though on auto-pilot. He's been a fool to feel guilty about being with Robert. What's the point in trying to uphold some unspoken promise that's already been violated by the other party?

Jimmy's just been given permission to do something he's thought about for a long time.


	16. Chapter 16

About an hour and a half ago, Peter Grant received the call. Keith Relf is up to something. Peter Grant does not believe in coincidences. Why else would Jimmy Page suddenly decide to pay Keith a visit? After five years, Charlotte's death has resurfaced like a pharoah's curse, haunting the lives of everyone involved.

Grant has had a good thing going since the accident. He manages a popular rock group named Bad Company and pulls in more money than he's ever seen. It would be a shame if Keith Relf's big mouth topples the kingdom Grant's managed to build for himself and his family.

The question is: what did Keith tell Jimmy?

Only one way to find out.

The sun's setting over the horizon when Grant knocks on the door to Keith's flat. He knows Keith will answer. If Peter Grant wants to talk, you talk. To refuse means that Grant will find you. Alone.

Grant hears Keith coming to the door. There's a brief moment of hesitation, as though Keith is looking through the peephole. Then the door opens, and even Grant is surprised by Keith's withered appearance. But what shocks him most is the nasty purple bruise spread across Keith's nose.

Whatever Keith said, Jimmy didn't like it.

Keith seems to understand the reason for Grant's visit. His expression is one of resignation. "It's been a while," he says, stalling for time.

Grant nods slowly. "Not long enough. May I come in?"

Keith lets him inside, because refusing would be pointless. Grant takes in the bland white walls and the disarray of clutter. "I understand," Grant begins, cutting to the chase, "that Jimmy Page paid you a visit."

Keith's eyes bulge. "How do you know that?"

"Just a rumor." Grant smiles. "What happened to your face?"

Keith, perhaps sensing that lying would be dangerous, says, "Page and I had a, uh, disagreement."

Without warning, Grant hits Keith deep in the gut. Keith folds at the waist, sucking air. Grant punches him in the head, and Keith goes down, flat on his back. Grant moves closer, casting a huge shadow over Keith's fallen form.

Over the years, Grant has learned it's best to strike before an interrogation. Most people will try to talk their way around the questions, offering up lies and half-truths under the threat of pain. But pain and fear wreak havoc with the psyche.

"I just told him about the affair," Keith offers, his voice shaky and panicked. "That's all, I swear. He doesn't know the rest."

"Why did he visit you?"

Keith slowly moves into a sitting position. "Because I fucked up. I sent him a letter trying to warn him about Scarlet. But he's investigating. He knows about the car."

It's worse than Grant thought. Jimmy will have to be dealt with. Carefully, of course, as to not draw undue attention.

"What exactly did you say to him?" Grant asks.

"I told him about my affair with Charlotte, how Scarlet could be my daughter. I think—I think it distracted him."

"But not for long..."

Weakly, Keith gets to his feet, still woozy from the assault. Grant steps forward and closes in on him.

"Don't tell Page anything else," Grant says. "Remember, you're part of this too."

Keith nods, looking like a frightened animal.

Grant moves for the door. "This will all be over soon."

"You're not—you're not gonna hurt him, are you? Please. No more bloodshed," Keith begs.

"You hurt Page," Grant says simply.

Keith opens his mouth, closes it. "Wh—That was a long time ago. You can hardly compare the two."

"Well, you've got that part right. Physical pain is temporary, but what you did... A man doesn't come back from that."

"Hard to come back from murder."

Grant shrugs his wide shoulders and reaches the door. "It's for the best, really. Charlotte's death remains a tragic accident, and you're one step closer to raising your daughter. At least, if you stop the drugs and pull your shit together."

"That's not—" Keith stops himself, but Grant's interest is piqued.

"That's not what?"

Keith's gaze darts every which way. When he speaks, his words throw a hefty wrench into Grant's plan.

Keith will have to be watched even closer.

* * *

There's something different about Jimmy that evening, but Robert can't put his finger on what it is. Maybe it's the way Jimmy's tucked against Robert's back while he's trying to fix dinner. Or maybe it's how Jimmy's usually chaste hands are pushed underneath Robert's shirt. Or because he's nibbling kisses into the slope of Robert's neck.

"Pagey," Robert coos, sort of leaning back into Jimmy's embrace. "You're awfully affectionate tonight."

Jimmy hums a soft sound against Robert's neck, the heat of his breath making Robert's insides coil. "Is that a problem for you?" One of his hands drifts to Robert's belt and gropes him, which makes Robert jerk his hips back, away from Jimmy's hand. His ass ruts against Jimmy's own erection, and, damn it, this isn't helping.

"Not in front of Scarlet," Robert whispers.

Robert feels the void where Jimmy's mouth was pressed against his skin, as though Jimmy's turned his head to make sure his daughter isn't watching their adolescent grope-fest. "She's not even looking at us."

Robert checks to make sure. Scarlet's lying on her stomach on the living room carpet, playing with her dollhouse, entirely uninterested in Jimmy and Robert.

Robert turns his attention back to the bubbling saucepan on the stovetop, then Jimmy's mouth is at his ear. "Relax, love, I'm not going to jerk you off right here. When I make you come tonight, you'll wonder how you ever orgasmed without me."

Jesus fucking Christ. Robert sucks in a deep breath and steadies himself. "Um, so what did you do today?" He remembers the way Jimmy looked when he came to pick up Scarlet—red-rimmed, puffy eyes, and a forced smile.

Jimmy traces a finger around Robert's navel. "I paid a visit to Keith. From the Yardbirds. We talked about Charlotte. It made me realize how lucky I am to have you, and maybe—maybe I should show my appreciation a bit more."

From the insistent press of a boner against Robert's ass, he thinks Jimmy's showing his, uh,  _appreciation_  pretty well. But it's not like Robert's going to complain about it. Isn't this what he wants, for Jimmy to be more open with his emotions and not afraid to love again? Sure, it's a little unusual, but whatever. This investigation is probably helping Jimmy excavate some emotions and sort through the horrors of his past. It's a good thing, right?

After Scarlet's been put to bed, Jimmy takes Robert upstairs, his eager hands tugging at the edge of Robert's jeans. Robert lets himself be pulled into the bedroom, lets Jimmy shut the door behind them. Jimmy gets them undressed pretty quickly, shirts and jeans discarded onto the floor in a flurry.

"What's gotten into you, Pagey?" he asks around Jimmy's mouth. The backs of his knees meet the edge of the bed, and Robert goes willingly.

"Mm, it's more about me getting into you." Jimmy's on top of him, his palm skimming along the underside of Robert's bare thigh.

Robert's response chokes in his throat at the touch of Jimmy's hand. "You're really..."

"I thought you had experience with this, you know, bending over and getting plowed."

Robert did say that, but hearing it from Jimmy's mouth twists him up in new, exciting ways, and he feels a desire that hurts.

Jimmy kneels at the foot of the bed and opens his mouth around Robert's dick. Robert whimpers a noise he'll be embarrassed about later, because Jimmy's mouth is  _amazing_. His technique is kind of sloppy, but he's new at this, and it's his enthusiasm that counts.

Robert clutches a hand in Jimmy's hair, his hips involuntarily pushing into the heat of Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy takes it all with minimal readjustment, just lets Robert fuck his throat. His stubble leaves a mild burn as it scrapes the tender skin of Robert's inner thighs. Once he's hard, Jimmy pulls off, gazing at him with lustful intent.

Jimmy decides that Robert's getting fucked tonight, which Robert is totally down for. Jimmy's careful with him, as though Robert's new to the whole experience. It's a welcome change of pace from the rough, almost angry way he's used to. Jimmy touches him and loosens him up like he's something fragile. Robert hasn't been fragile in a long time.

He loves the way Jimmy feels inside of him, pushing in at a pace that's steady and deep. Jimmy moans more than usual, interspersed with Robert's name and declarations of love. The sound of it sends a low ache through Robert, and his legs intertwine around Jimmy's hips, easing him deeper.

Jimmy learns pretty quickly that Robert likes to talk while he's being fucked: "Fuck, Pagey, I knew you'd feel good inside me. Shit, Jim, right there, oh God, oh fuck, that's perfect. Fuck me... Harder, Jimmy, I can take it." It seems to pull Jimmy right out of the experience, because having sex narrated by your partner might be considered a pretty effective softener of erections.

"Must you do that?" Jimmy asks, ceasing the shove of his hips to fix Robert with a look of scorn.

"Do what?" Robert bites down on a moan and grinds into Jimmy's dick.

"The talking. It's obnoxious. Can't you just grunt and moan like a normal person?"

"You're such a pain in the arse."

Jimmy's gaze flicks to where they're connected. "I would imagine so."

Robert laughs and pulls Jimmy's mouth down upon his own, then Jimmy's rolling his hips like a storm, and Robert grips Jimmy's ass and tilts his hips up until he's being fucked just right, and, oh, Jesus, that's impossibly good. Jimmy's mouth is everywhere at once: Robert's lips, his neck, the hollow of his throat, his nipples. His hands drag down the line of Jimmy's back, his sharp intake of breath disrupting Jimmy's kisses. Robert's stopped talking now, just whining soft noises into the shallow pockets behind Jimmy's collarbones.

Jimmy latches his mouth over Robert's own and lets himself fall in one slow slide. He shakes his way through it, murmuring soft words over Robert's lips. The spill of warmth is what gets Robert there, and he digs his fingers in as the room flashes like lightning behind his eyelids.

He's still shaking after it's over, and Jimmy just kisses him until Robert can breathe again. It's all very intimate and comfortable in a way they've never been before. Maybe Robert should be worried about that. "What's wrong, Pagey?"

"Nothing," Jimmy says, breathless and broken, but there's a weakness to it that isn't a side-effect of his orgasm. "Can't I make love to you without there being something wrong?"

"You never have before." Robert shrugs, because that's genuinely the best argument he's got. Jimmy's never been inside of him, but Robert's never pushed the topic, figuring Jimmy wasn't interested. Not that Robert wasn't disappointed, but he considered it a small price to pay for Jimmy's adoration.

Jimmy purses his lips, filling Robert with the familiar impulse to kiss him deeply. "Maybe it's a little unusual. Would you care to throw holy water on me?" He smirks and slings his legs over the side of the bed.

"You said you love me," Robert says, because clearly Jimmy's not getting how weird this is. "Quite a lot, actually."

"Because I do." Jimmy moves for the shower, tosses a glance over his shoulder. "Are you coming or not?"

Robert gawks at Jimmy's long, lithe body and completely forgets what he's even protesting.

He remembers once they're settled in bed together. Robert's pressed against Jimmy, taking on the role of Little Spoon, which is an unusual turn of events for them. Sure, Robert feels safe, but he also feels like he's in bed with a stranger, because this is  _not_  Jimmy.

"What's going on, Pagey?" Robert asks, ignoring Jimmy's exasperated sigh into his hair. "Something's bothering you."

"Yeah: you."

Robert pouts. "You're upset, so I'm going to ignore that. Tell me what's wrong. Even if it's got something to do with me. Oh God,  _especially_  if it's got to do with me."

Jimmy's quiet for a moment, then he says, "Just so we're clear, you don't want me to fuck you or tell you I love you?"

"Not when it's coming from a negative place. Making love shouldn't involve bad vibes, y'know?"

Jimmy sighs again and grumbles something about new-age hippie bullshit into Robert's hair. But after a few seconds of silence, he says, "Keith had an affair with Charlotte."

And there it is. Robert feels his heart break in his chest. "No..."

Jimmy holds Robert a little tighter, as though fearing someone might steal Robert away from him too. "He said it was her idea and that it lasted over a year."

Robert hears the horrible subtext underneath the words. He doesn't say anything though, mostly because he doesn't know if words could ever be enough.

"No, I don't know how I didn't see it," Jimmy says, sounding agonized, like he's run that question through his head over and over.

God, that almost makes it worse. Robert's glad Jimmy can't see his face right now, because tears are streaming down his cheeks. It wouldn't take much to convince Jimmy this was a mistake, that he's hurting Robert by sharing this heartache with him.

"When I have time to think about all of this," Jimmy continues, "it will break my heart. It'll crush me when I let it in. So right now I'm just angry. Angry that a close friend and the woman I loved both betrayed me. Angry that I wasted so much time feeling guilty about you and me."

A short silence passes between them. Robert opens his mouth to speak when Jimmy says, "Scarlet might not even be my daughter." His voice shakes around the words, and Robert feels a lump in his throat.

"What difference would that make?"

"Fucking Christ, Robert."

Robert realizes what he's said. "Okay, that came out wrong. But why does it matter if Keith was just a sperm donor? You're the one who cared for Scarlet and loved her the past five years, and who Scarlet's grown up calling 'Daddy.' Do you think she would care if some stranger she's never known is her biological father?"

Jimmy's fingers shift and slide over Robert's stomach. He doesn't answer, just breathes heavily into Robert's hair. But maybe that's an answer in itself. Jimmy hates it when Robert's right about something.

"Keith isn't the one who raised Scarlet all by himself," Robert continues, impassioned now. "He knew he could have fathered Scarlet, but he did nothing, even after the accident. He could have come around and offered to help, but he didn't."

"He didn't know where I moved to," Jimmy says, lamely. It sounds like an excuse.

"A real father wouldn't let that stop him. He'd go to the ends of the earth to find his daughter. It's not like it was that hard for Chris to find you." Robert shrugs to himself. "Maybe I'm talking rubbish. I don't have children."

"You did," Jimmy says, his voice so full of pain Robert regrets his words. "You do."

Robert whirls around, flipping over so he's facing Jimmy. His hair sort of smacks Jimmy in the face. "You—you see me as a father figure to Scarlet?"

Jimmy's still frowning, one eye opened after the sudden hair assault. He turns away, lying so his back's facing Robert. "You're more of a  _bother_  figure because you're always bothering me. Go to sleep, Robert."

Robert's developed a sixth sense for Jimmy's moods by now, so he knows Jimmy's trying to hide something embarrassing like feelings. "Do you think she sees me that way?"

"Slow down there, mate. What I meant was what happened to Karac doesn't take your father status away. He'll always be your son."

Robert  _almost_  falls for that. "If you can see me as a father to Scarlet, then deep down you know what truly makes a father is loving and caring for your children."

Jimmy makes a grunting noise and tugs the blankets tighter around him.

Robert's taking that as an admission of defeat.

* * *

Jimmy gets maybe two hours of sleep that night, spread out in small increments throughout the night. He knows because he keeps waking up, his tired, sluggish eyes finding the clock on the night table, its neon numbers barely budging from the last time he checked.

Robert's already taken care of breakfast when Jimmy comes downstairs. Jimmy thanks him with a quick kiss and drops into a vacant chair at the table.

"How are you feeling?" Robert asks, tentative, as though his words might trip a landmine in Jimmy's brain.

_Well, I just learned the accident that killed my wife-to-be was not, in fact, an accident. On top of that, I found out one of my best friends had an affair with her that lasted over a year, and, oh yeah, my daughter might not even be biologically mine. I'm fine and fucking dandy._

"I've been better."

"Would this cheer you up a tic?" Robert sets a plate of French toast in front of Jimmy. The toast slices have a crunchy, crumbly texture to them, but they're a little browner than Jimmy's used to.

"I thought you'd been practicing not burning toast."

Robert does a pouty thing with his mouth. "It's not burnt, it's deep golden. And Scarlet doesn't seem to mind."

Scarlet's sitting at the table, enjoying a piece of toast slathered in maple syrup. He feels like Robert bribed her into this somehow. Jimmy rubs his swollen eyes and decides not to give Robert shit about his cooking skills, lest he run off into the arms of someone else too.

Jimmy, bitter? Perish the thought.

Robert fixes himself a plate and sits beside Jimmy at the table. "You've been thinking about it, haven't you?"

"Hard not to." Jimmy sighs, pushing the food on his plate around with his fork. "I'm still not sure how Keith ties into all of this yet. But he got a bit touchy when I mentioned going to Grant and Cole."

Robert's brow furrows. "Who's that, now?"

"Peter Grant was the Yardbirds' manager. Richard Cole was our tour manager. They're the only two I haven't spoken with yet. To be honest, I've been putting it off. They're not the most"—Jimmy searches for the word—"friendly types. I've seen what they did to promoters and autograph hounds that got out of line."

Before becoming a tour manager, Peter Grant worked as a nightclub bouncer and even wrestled professionally. On the Yardbirds' last tour, a concert promoter and his stagehands caused Grant a bit of trouble. While the band was finishing up their set, Peter Grant and Richard Cole met the promoter in his trailer, and carnage ensued. Jimmy still remembers the interior of that trailer, awash with blood and teeth. He remembers Grant's small smile as the paramedics carted his opponent away.

Even before the end, there were rumors. In 1968, Grant and Cole had a falling out with a journalist and allegedly pushed him out of a upper-story window, dangling him by the legs above twenty-odd stories of traffic. Jimmy asked the other band members about the incident, but they would neither confirm nor deny it.

No bones about it, Grant and Cole are two of the meanest sumbitches in existence.

"I'm not even sure if I could get ahold of them now," Jimmy says. "I know Grant's busy with Bad Company, and Cole's probably partnered with him."

Robert's quiet for a moment. "You know, you've gone poking around like this, but you're forgetting something very important."

"Which is?"

"Whoever's involved is going to lie to you. It's not like the person responsible's just going to confess they cut the brakes on your car."

A fair point. Jimmy sits back in his chair. "It's a shame Bonzo's not on the force anymore."

Robert goes suspiciously quiet, swirling the tea in his cup. "Well, it doesn't have to be a policeman. It could be someone unassuming, someone these men don't know."

Jimmy throws Robert  _the look_. "You're not seriously suggesting yourself, are you?"

"Me?" Robert lays a hand over his chest in surprise, as though this is news to him. "I suppose I could."

"I thought dating you gave me the power to veto crazy shit like this."

Robert gives Jimmy a meaningful look, his gaze darting to Scarlet for a moment then back to Jimmy, scandalized that Jimmy said "shit" in front of his five-year-old.

Jimmy rolls his eyes. Scarlet's not even paying attention to them.

Robert takes Jimmy's lackadaisical attitude in stride. "Would you just listen to my idea first before you say no?"

"Fine. The floor is yours."

"You said Grant's with Bad Company, right? I could pose as a journalist for Melody Maker, looking for an interview with the manager of one of England's top acts. Usually people want to interview a member of the band, so he'll probably go for it. Of course, I'll ask about his current goings-on, but I'll have questions about his time with the Yardbirds, see what he offers."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "And you'll do the same thing with Cole?"

"Yeah, it shouldn't raise suspicion. Journalists are supposed to get information from multiple sources. And if I frame the article as some congratulatory piece about the unsung heroes behind the band, they're not going to question it too much as long as it makes them look good." Robert's given this a frightening amount of thought.

"If one of them is involved, how do you intend to prove it?" Jimmy asks.

Robert gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment. "I don't know. But you said Keith got dodgy when you mentioned Grant and Cole. So maybe they know something that incriminates Keith."

"Maybe. It's likely one or both of them knew about the affair and didn't say anything in order to keep the band together. I was a vital part of the Yardbirds. In some respects, I was the star—each guitarist was, in his own way. But the band wasn't making as much money as we ought to have been, so if the managers saw something pertaining to the affair, odds are they kept quiet about it."

Robert nods like that makes sense and stares into his tea. He's quiet all of a sudden, as though awaiting Jimmy's verdict. Jimmy watches him for a handful of seconds. He's been so wrapped up in his own whirlwind of problems that he's forgotten about Robert's. All of this could be bringing back painful memories; if helping Jimmy solve this mystery distracts Robert from the pain of missing Karac, how can Jimmy say no?

Jimmy sighs, puffing his hair out of his eyes. He doesn't think Robert will be in any danger, but there's always that sliver of a chance, and sometimes a sliver is all that's needed for Jimmy's life to go fantastically awry. His fiancée cheated on him for over a year, possibly birthed a daughter who isn't biologically his, then someone killed her, so Jimmy lives every day with the unshakeable conviction that the powers that be aren't through dicking with him.

"If you do this," Jimmy begins, and Robert's face brightens with a grin. "I said  _if_ —you've got to promise me you won't be a bloody idiot about it. If you feel for even a second that they might hurt you, get out of there. These are dangerous men, Robert. If they're involved..." He trails off, a lump forming in his throat.

"I'll be fine," Robert promises. "Just tell me everything you know about them."

* * *

By Sunday, Robert manages to set up an interview with Peter Grant under the pseudonym of Danny Goldberg, journalist for Melody Maker newspaper. Grant even allows for the interview to take place at his London home, which Robert's thrilled about. He might be able to snoop around if Grant steps out to use the restroom.

While Jimmy's spending the day with Scarlet at the park, Robert heads into London to meet with Peter Grant. Grant lives in a modest, red and cream-colored two-story home in a neighborhood not unlike Jimmy's own. Robert was expecting an extravagant mansion out in the middle of nowhere.

He walks up the walkway leading to the door. The front yard, though small, is nicely kept, with bushes lining the perimeter. Robert rings the doorbell.

A huge, bearded man Robert's assuming is Peter Grant answers the door. He's over six feet tall and about three hundred pounds. His shirt stretches over his enormous belly; Robert fears a button might pop loose and take out an eye. "You must be the chap from the paper," Grant says, shaking Robert's hand. "Come in, come in."

The interior of the house is decorated in rich red and gold hues. Robert glances around for anything that might be suspicious, but he isn't sure what he's looking for. Grant sits on a paisley-patterned couch and invites Robert to do the same.

After exchanging pleasantries, Robert turns on the tape recorder and dives into the interview. He asks Grant how he got started in this business, his background, general questions meant to relax him as well as establish a baseline for Grant's mannerisms. Grant seems rather comfy, which is exactly what Robert wants.

He decides to tackle the subject of the Yardbirds with a bit of finesse. "How'd you come to work with the Yardbirds?"

"I was working with Mickie Most at the time," Grant explains. "Their manager Simon Napier-Bell sold his share of the band to us. Before he left, Simon actually told me, 'It's a good band, but you need to find a guitarist. He's a real troublemaker, that Jimmy Page.' Said he asked too many questions about where the money was going."

Interesting. "But the band started making money after you got on, right?"

"We did pretty well up until '69. The last years were rough, for me, at least, because the band was pretty split on continuing."

"What do you mean?"

"Relf and McCarty were always screwing off with girls or drugs. Page was talking about leaving the band after his daughter was born. Chris Dreja was somewhere in the middle. So I brought in Richard Cole to manage the last American tour. He kept the band happy up until the end."

"'The end' being the accident?"

Grant stiffens a bit at the words. He nods solemnly. "Page was in the hospital for almost two weeks, and he couldn't play with a broken arm. Even if we went on hiatus while he healed, the damage was done. He lost his fiancée in the wreck. It was a hard time for all of us."

Robert picks up on that. "The band was close with her?"

"We all were," Grant says, his voice tinged with sadness. "Charlotte came with us on the last tour to be with Jimmy. When Jimmy went off on his own, she'd find me or Keith to show her 'round whatever city we were staying in. She loved Jimmy's friends."

A little too much, Robert thinks wryly. He already knew about Keith, but could Charlotte have had an affair with Peter Grant as well? Robert can't force his brain to go there, because one betrayal is enough. But the idea scratches at the back of his brain nonetheless.

He can sense Grant's defenses sliding up, so he pulls back a bit. "So after the Yardbirds broke up, you got on with Bad Company?"

Grant nods. "I could tell they were gonna be big. I saw them play the club circuit and personally paid the cost of recording their first album. They used a mobile studio so they could record out in the countryside. The actual location is an old Victorian mansion out in Hampshire. The band wanted a more comfortable environment than some stuffy old studio, y'know?"

Grant slaps his hands on his thighs as he stands up. "'Scuse me for a second, mate. Help yourself to a drink if you'd like." He heads down the hall and disappears inside the restroom.

Robert decides this is his one chance to search the house for anything incriminating. He doesn't know what to look for exactly, but if Peter Grant's hiding something, there might be clues in his private quarters.

Robert switches off the recorder and takes the chance. He keeps his footsteps light as he rushes up the staircase. To his right, a door is wide open. He sees a gigantic, king-size bed and a tall wooden bureau. Robert slinks inside. The walls are loaded up with newspaper clippings of the bands Grant's managed, including the Yardbirds. He moves in for a closer look.

A few of the clippings catch his eye, mostly because they feature gruesome photographs of the wreckage that twisted Jimmy's life. Robert flinches away; seeing the destroyed vehicle is awful enough. Most of the articles feature Jimmy in post-wreck coverage, but there's a few centered around Charlotte's death that make Robert shiver though he isn't cold.

He turns his attention to the night table near the bed. There's nothing on top of it that piques Robert's interest: a dog-eared paperback, a pair of reading glasses, a telephone. Robert opens the drawer and hits pay dirt.

Inside the drawer, hidden beneath two worn and torn magazines, is a black box small enough to fit in Robert's palm. He listens for activity downstairs and hears nothing. Robert opens the lid and almost screams out loud.

A golden posy ring sits inside the box atop a folded white silk handkerchief. The inscription engraved on the inside of the band reads: "As gold is pure, so love is sure."

Jimmy proposed to Charlotte with this ring. Charlotte was wearing this ring when she died.

So what the hell is Peter Grant doing with it?

Robert doesn't waste time trying to figure this out. He closes the box and puts it back into the drawer, hurries out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Robert hears the muffled sound of a toilet flushing in the ground-floor bathroom. Thank God. He sits on the couch and tries to calm the manic thrum of his heartbeat.

Jimmy's words echo in his head: _If you feel for even a second that they might hurt you, get out of there. These are dangerous men, Robert._

But is Robert truly in danger? Grant seems like an affable fellow, and, okay, so he's got the engagement ring of a dead woman in his nightstand drawer. Doesn't everyone? All of this points to Grant caring a great deal for Charlotte, which doesn't exactly cross him off the suspect list.

A few moments later, Grant emerges from the restroom. "Nothing to drink for you?" he asks, sauntering into the kitchen. There's a fancy self-serve bar atop the kitchen counter.

"N—no, thank you."

"Well, I'm a bit parched myself." Grant pours himself a drink behind the bar. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all," Robert says, sounding dazed. He shakes himself back into the role of reporter. "So, um, how is your experience in Bad Company different from when you worked with the Yardbirds?"

Grant takes a long drink before answering. "Well, for one, the chaps in Bad Company are fresher. When I got in with the Yardbirds, most of the band already had a few years under their belt; Page was the only real go-getter by that point. But Bad Company's just getting their feet wet. They haven't tired of the whole scene yet."

He takes another drink. "And they're playing bigger venues now than the Yardbirds ever did. Bad Company's debut album hit number one in the States, and their second album hit number three both here and across the pond. The Yardbirds never saw that kind of success."

"Do you still keep in touch with the Yardbirds members?"

Grant shrugs. "Well, Page moved away and became a hermit, Keith went off to do his own thing with Renaissance for a bit, then he kind of disappeared too. Chris Dreja lives in the States now. Jeff's a pretty big star now, and I'm not sure whatever happened to Jim McCarty. So, to answer your question, no, I don't. Not really. I catch their names in print every so often, but I don't actively stay in touch."

Is it suspicious that Grant seems to know what they're all up to despite not keeping in touch? Robert isn't sure what to think anymore. All he wants is to go home to Jimmy and ruminate over what he's learned here. He toys with the silver bangle around his wrist. "So what are you doing now with Bad Company?"

"We're getting a British tour together to promote the third album. It's scheduled to start toward the end of April." Grant narrows his eyes. "Is something wrong? You seem anxious."

Robert sort of startles. Oh God, is it obvious? He can feel the feverish sweat breaking out across his forehead. "Oh, n—no, I just—must've had some bad curry for lunch." He chuckles, hoping Grant doesn't hear the lie.

"Loo's open if you need it, mate."

"Oh, no, no, I couldn't. I've got a bit of a phobia about public loos and whatnot. Maybe we could finish this some other time?" Robert rubs the back of his neck. "I know it's horribly unprofessional, but sometimes things can't be helped."

Grant throws back another drink. "Shit happens."

Robert feels his face burn. Jimmy better fucking appreciate this.

#

Peter Grant watches Danny Goldberg's truck pull out of the driveway. You don't get very far in this business without a decent sense of paranoia, and Grant is more than a little suspicious of Mr. Goldberg—if that's even his real name. What are the odds that once Jimmy Page starts sniffing around the details of Charlotte's death, a "reporter" shows up asking a bit too many questions about the Yardbirds? Add in a suspicious departure, and you've got cause for concern.

Grant memorizes the license plate of the truck and picks up the phone. After two rings, a voice answers. "Articulate." Richard Cole.

"We have a problem."

Cole waits for him to elaborate.

"It seems Page is sending someone to do his dirty work. Goes by the name Danny Goldberg. Journalist for Melody Maker." Grant reads off the license plate number.

"He could be telling the truth."

"You know I don't believe in coincidences."

Cole makes an affirmative noise. "I'll look into it. What do you want me to do when I find him?"

Grant isn't sure what the best course of action is here. If this Goldberg chap is connected to Page, will it be beneficial to kill him? It shouldn't draw too much attention on its own, but if Page has his suspicions, this would only confirm them. So if Goldberg is killed, Page will have to die as well. Keith's extenuating circumstances mean he cannot be trusted or reasoned into silence. If Keith makes one wrong move, he will need to be eliminated.

Grant sighs. Triple murder really wasn't on his agenda this week.

"Just find out what he knows," Grant says. "No further than that." Because if someone harms Goldberg—say, someone who works for Grant—that person could easily cut a deal and say he was just a hired hand. Three can keep a secret if two are dead, as the saying goes.

"I'll take care of it," Cole says before hanging up.

* * *

Jimmy and Scarlet aren't back yet when Robert arrives at the house, so he lets himself in and makes a phone call to Bonzo. Bonzo answers on the third ring. "Bonham residence."

"Bonzo, it's me."

"Oi, Robert! What's wrong? Something happen?"

Robert twirls the phone cord around his index finger. "Well, I'm not sure. I think so, but I want a second opinion before I do anything rash, like tell Jimmy."

"Tell Jimmy what? What's going on?"

Robert fills him in on the interview with Peter Grant. When he's finished, Bonzo sighs a deep, thoughtful sound.

"I just—that's suspicious, right? Him having the ring? Why would he have that?"

"You're ignoring the obvious: this Grant bloke was screwing around with her."

Robert shuts his eyes in pain.

"Or maybe he wanted to," Bonzo says. "It doesn't necessarily mean he's involved."

"But why would he have it? Charlotte was Jimmy's fiancée. Wouldn't it have been given to him?"

"Jimmy was in the hospital, wasn't he? Personal effects are usually given to the next of kin which, in this case, would have been her parents."

Robert throws a hand out at nothing in particular. "Do you not understand how weird this is?"

"I'm not saying it isn't strange. There's always the possibility that Grant approached Charlotte's parents and asked for the ring as a memento."

Robert hadn't considered that. He scratches his chin. "That makes sense, I guess. They didn't like Jimmy, so they wouldn't have given it to him. And if Grant came to them first..." He twists the phone cord again. "Or maybe he paid someone to steal the ring from the morgue."

"Quite an imagination."

"There's other things that don't add up," Robert explains. "He said the Yardbirds didn't make much money, but after the band split he was somehow able to pay out of pocket for Bad Company to record their album? And he seems like he knows what all the Yardbirds are up to now despite claiming he doesn't keep in touch with them?"

Bonzo makes that thoughtful "hmm" sound Robert knows so well.

"Jimmy went to visit Keith Relf the other day, and said that when he mentioned talking to Grant, Keith got kind of dodgy. Do you think Keith might know something more than he's letting on?"

"Anything's possible, Robert, but you've got to look at what's most likely. Odds are Keith didn't want Jimmy finding out about the affair from Grant. So he took the dive and told Jimmy himself."

Robert frowns, and it's almost as if Bonzo senses his displeasure, because he says, "Any physical evidence is probably gone by now. The only way someone's gonna pay for this is with a confession, and if they've gotten away with it for this long they're not gonna start talkin' now."

Robert sighs a sad noise of frustration. This is such bullshit. Someone killed Charlotte, and they're going to get away with it.

"Look, if I were you... Don't tell Jimmy," Bonzo says. "It's only going to hurt him more. All of this is just... There's nothing to gain here."

"So you're suggesting we just give up?" Robert scoffs. "What if it was Pat? Would you give up so easily?"

Bonzo exhales in exasperation. "Robert..."

"Jimmy's already been hurt. If digging deeper gives him some sense of closure..."

"Closure you never had with Karac?" Bonzo asks. Robert feels like he's been pushed out of a tree, the breath whooshing out of his lungs. "There was nothing to solve, no killer to bring to justice. So you're trying to find answers for Jimmy. I get it, Robert, I do, but sometimes you have to just let things go and move on."

Robert wipes away the tears sheeting down his cheeks. He doubts Bonzo could ever understand the suffering Jimmy's endured unless he's personally been knee-deep in it. This is something they'll never agree on.

Robert straightens up when he hears the sound of the front door unlocking. "I, uh—Jimmy's home. I should go."

"Alright. Cheers, mate. And remember, keep your gob shut."

"Sure." Robert hangs up as Jimmy and Scarlet walk through the door. He forces up a smile—though it's not hard when he's looking at two of his favorite people in the world—and says, "There you are! Did you have fun?"

Scarlet rushes toward him and clings to his legs. "Uh-huh!" She looks up at him, and her smile disappears. "Why are you crying?"

Robert sniffles and wipes his eyes again. "I'm just so happy to see you."

Scarlet doesn't seem to buy that—probably too used to Jimmy's poor excuses—but Robert pushes a hand through her hair, and she giggles.

Jimmy approaches, looking gorgeous and wind-blown. He wraps an arm around Robert's waist and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. "You okay?"

"I was on the phone with Bonzo before you came home," Robert murmurs. "We talked about Karac."

Jimmy nods in reverence, but he quirks his lips in a doubtful sort of way. He doesn't press the subject while Scarlet's in earshot.

Robert cooks dinner in an attempt to keep his mind off of the disturbing revelations he's learned today. Jimmy probably sees right through this pathetic distraction technique. At least he has the decency to hold off the probing questions until nighttime when Scarlet's been tucked into bed, and Robert and Jimmy forge an uncomfortable, heavy silence in the dimly-lit kitchen.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Jimmy asks, his voice leaving no room for excuses.

That doesn't stop Robert from trying, however. "Nothing's wrong, Pagey. I just—I've been thinking about Karac a lot lately." It's a role-reversal of their conversation the other night, but it's not Robert's own pain that keeps his secrets locked up; it's what those secrets might do to Jimmy.

Jimmy rolls his eyes, his arms folded over his chest. They're sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, and Jimmy's slouched in his chair in an effortlessly casual way. "You're really not a good liar."

"You think I'm lying?" Dumb fucking question; Jimmy literally  _just_  said as much. Robert's stalling, and Jimmy can see it.

"Maybe not  _lying_ , but you're hiding something." Jimmy looks at him, and Robert feels trapped beneath his gaze. In a gentle voice, Jimmy says, "Whatever it is, I can handle it."

Fresh tears well in Robert's eyes. He wipes them away, tries to pass off the gesture as a sweep of his hand through his hair.

Jimmy reaches across the table and lays a hand over Robert's own. His touch is warm and calming. "I think it's sweet that you want to protect me. You've got such a good heart. But it's not your job to decide what I can and can't handle. If you know something, please, tell me. We can deal with it, whatever it is."

Robert blinks, and tears spill down his cheeks. He's still completely undecided.

Jimmy sighs. "You're not holding out for me to coerce you with sexual favors?"

Robert twists the silver bangle around his wrist.

"Do I have to speak with Peter Grant personally?"

Terror grips Robert. "No!"

Jimmy arches an eyebrow.

Robert's spent so much of his life hiding things and masking truths that it's almost second nature. With children, of course, it's necessary; they're not always capable of understanding harsh truths and realities. With Maureen, Robert didn't want her to see him differently, didn't want to cause her undue pain.

If their situations were reversed, if Jimmy knew something about Karac's death that might hurt Robert yet also bring him closure, would he want Jimmy to hide it?

The words tumble out of Robert's mouth before he has a chance to think about them: "Peter Grant has Charlotte's engagement ring."

Jimmy's hopeful expression crumbles into stunned despair. His brow creases in pain, his eyes darting to and fro as if searching for an answer. "Why would he—Why would he have that?"

"I don't know. I don't much like any of the answers I come up with."

From the looks of him, neither does Jimmy. "How did you—Did he just tell you?"

"I had to do some"—Robert searches for the word—"sleuthing."

Jimmy frowns, as though he's entirely aware of the subtext behind the word.

"While he was in the loo, I went upstairs to his bedroom for a look around. I found the ring in his bedside drawer. He's got a few clippings about the accident, but nothing else really jumped out at me. 'Course I didn't have much time to look."

"What about the interview? Did he say anything suspicious?"

"Well, he didn't confess to anything, if that's what you mean." Robert toys with the bracelet again. He almost expects Jimmy to reach over and stop him, but Jimmy's hands stay in his lap, wringing and twisting. "I, um, I recorded the first half of it, y'know, trying to look legitimate."

"I want to hear it," Jimmy says, answering Robert's next question.

Robert hangs back for a moment, opens his mouth to ask if Jimmy's sure about that, but he shakes it off and retrieves the tape recorder from where he'd left it in Jimmy's bedroom.

Robert sets the recorder in the middle of the table and presses play. It takes a while for the tape to get to the meat and potatoes of the interview. Jimmy listens patiently until his name is mentioned.

" _Before he left, Simon actually told me, 'It's a good band, but you need to find a guitarist. He's a real troublemaker, that Jimmy Page.' Said he asked too many questions about where the money was going._ "

Jimmy's brow creases, as though he fears an accomplice has been added to the growing list of suspects.

But Robert notices the exact moment Jimmy's posture stiffens, as though the words are a body blow: " _Charlotte came with us on the last tour to be with Jimmy. When Jimmy went off on his own, she'd find me or Keith to show her 'round whatever city we were staying in. She loved Jimmy's friends._ "

Angry tears spill down Jimmy's cheeks. His hands tighten into fists. The line of his mouth trembles as he swallows back the rage frothing inside of him. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and listens until the tape, mercifully, clicks off.

"I'm sorry, Pagey," Robert says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Jimmy sputters out a weak-sounding laugh. "What a downgrade. First Keith, then Peter?" He shakes his head, dismissing the idea. "No, nobody fucks down. Up and across, certainly. But never down."

"He could have talked her into thinking it was up," Robert suggests.

Another head shake. "No, no. You've seen Peter, right? Charlotte may have been a two-timing slag, but she had standards."

"Jim." Robert only calls him that in bed or when he's scolding him. "You don't mean that."

"The hell I don't. How would you feel if you found out Maureen screwed around on you, that Karac might not have even been your son?"

Robert winces.

"I think I'm entitled to be upset about this," Jimmy says, making a fist with one of his hands.

Robert decides not to poke at that any further. "I forgot to turn the tape back on after I found the ring. But, um, he seems to know what the other Yardbirds are up to now despite claiming he doesn't keep in touch with them."

Jimmy shrugs. "That doesn't mean anything," he says, but he doesn't sound like he believes it.

"Maybe not on its own." Robert's hand goes back to the wristlet. "If Peter killed her, why would he keep her ring? Bonzo said it might be a memento, but sometimes killers keep trinkets as trophies."

Jimmy gives him an odd look.

"What? My best mate was a policeman."

"I thought I was your best mate," Jimmy says, feigning hurt.

"You're my  _soul_  mate."

Jimmy winces, hisses through his teeth. "Oh, that one was so bad it physically hurt."

Robert can't help the smile that spreads on his lips. "I couldn't resist."

Jimmy smiles back, but it quickly fades from his lips, his brow furrowed in worry. "I keep coming back to Keith. He wrote the letter, and he tried to stop me from seeing Grant. It's almost like he knew Grant was the missing piece."

"You think Keith killed her?" Robert asks.

"He had a motive. He had the opportunity, I'm sure. Maybe he had Grant do it for him? It's not as though he hasn't lied to me before." Jimmy's hands tighten into fists again. "Bastard." He pushes away from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Jimmy snaps, stalking across the floor to the coat rack. "I'm going to have a little chat with Keith—"

Robert rushes to Jimmy's side and stops him. "Right now? Pagey, it's late. You're tired, you're not thinking straight. Just—sleep on it, please?"

Jimmy looks at him, and whatever he sees there on Robert's face softens the mask of rage on his own.

"At least wait until tomorrow," Robert continues. "Keith will still be there."

"Maybe not," Jimmy scoffs. "He looks like he's been having an affair with the White Lady for quite a while."

Robert pauses. Could that be Keith's guilty conscience drowning him in mind-altering substances? "Just one night. Please. Keep your wits about you."

Jimmy exhales a long, deep sigh and turns to face him. "Fine. One night."


	17. Chapter 17

Rest does not come easily for Jimmy; he doesn't fall asleep until four in the morning. He lies beside Robert in the bed, tossing and turning as his mind sorts through everything he's learned over the past few days. None of it produces any answers, just more questions.

When Jimmy wakes up, sunlight's peeking through the drapes in long fingers of illumination stretching up the bed. He panics that he's overslept until he sees the folded scrap of paper on the night table with Robert's elegant handwriting:

_Pagey,_

_Don't worry, I took Scarlet to class. All is well. Sleep the day away if you'd like; you've certainly earned it. ♥_

_Robert_

Jimmy manages to catch an extra hour of fitful sleep before deciding to just cut through the bullshit. He throws on a change of clothes and heads out to Kingston to confront Keith.

The sunshine seems like a mockery of Jimmy's inner turmoil. His world has been turned upside down, yet nothing has changed. Despite the industrial-strength shit that's been dumped on Jimmy recently, the world doesn't give the slightest damn about any of it.

Jimmy tries to formulate a plan of attack in his head, but he can't stop thinking about all the lies, how he's been betrayed over and over by those closest to him. He flicks on the radio and plays with the stations. Nothing soothes the savage beast, but he hadn't expected it to.

Jimmy pounds on the door of Keith's flat. For a handful of seconds, Keith doesn't answer. Jimmy wonders if he's gone out for the day. Then a small voice on the other side of the door calls out, "Page, is that you?"

"Let me in."

"Are you alone?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

A few more silent seconds pass, then Jimmy hears the sound of the door being unlocked. Keith pokes his head out, the door chain still in place. Jimmy tries not to flinch at how horrible Keith looks. His bruise is now a faded greenish-yellow smear across his crooked nose. Serves the bastard right.

"You can't be here," Keith says, the color ebbing from his already-pale face. "You have to leave."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Jimmy says. "We need to talk."

Keith's eyes dart from side to side. "Go away, Page."

Jimmy's spooked him, that much is obvious. But how? "I'm not leaving until you tell me why you dredged all of this up after five years. I think you owe me that much."

Keith shuts his eyes and rubs them with a weary hand. He winces, yanks his hand away. "Just—please go. It's not safe."

"Guess what? I don't care. You don't get to drop a bomb like this and then turn me away when I start asking questions."

"That was before..." Keith seems like he might continue that sentence, but he lets it taper off into the ether.

"Before what?"

Keith opens the door and peers out, as if looking for someone. Jimmy takes that opportunity to push past Keith and step inside. Keith slams the door and bolts it shut. He looks at Jimmy in anguish. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Jimmy asks, bearing down on him. "Start from why you sent me that letter."

"Because I'm dying."

"Good. Rot, you son of a bitch."

Keith's face sort of falls. "You don't mean that."

"Like hell I don't." Jimmy sits on the arm of the couch. "Let me guess, all those years of drug abuse finally caught up to you?"

Keith gives a small shrug. "No one's really sure what it is, exactly. But apparently it's some sort of virus that tears down the wall that protects me from disease. Eventually, any illness or infection becomes fatal because my body can't fight it off."

"Isn't there some kind of treatment or..."

Keith shakes his head. "You wouldn't believe how many doctors don't think this disease even exists. There isn't a name for it yet. The thing with this disease is it can hide in the body for a long time. I could've got it years ago and never known."

Something hot and tight rises in Jimmy's chest. "What are you talking about?"

Keith fidgets in his seat. "If I had it when I was with Charlotte, then... it could have been passed on to her. Scarlet could have it."

_My God. Scarlet._

Silence fills the room, expanding until Jimmy's sure the walls around them might give way. His eyes blur over with tears. He can't think straight, not after this bombshell. "Why didn't you just tell me that?" His voice shakes as panic rushes into his lungs.

"I wanted to. As soon as I found out, I wanted to let you know, just in case Scarlet is..." Keith stops that sentence when he sees the furious look Jimmy's giving him. "So I drove out to your place. I parked a few houses down while I gathered my nerve. How did I know you wouldn't slam the door in my face? Would you have believed me if I knocked on your door looking so near death and telling you your daughter could have some fatal disease no one knows the name of?"

Yeah, Jimmy probably wouldn't have given him the benefit of the doubt there.

Keith continues, "While I was figuring out what to say, I saw another car drive into your driveway. Your bloke got out, unlocked the door, and you kissed him. I just... It broke my heart, Page."

Jimmy scoffs an angry noise, too engrossed in panic and terror to come up with something better.

"We both lost Charlotte, but here you are raising her daughter and dating some bloke"—Jimmy hears the vitriol there—"like you're all one big, happy family. Like it's real. Like you love him." Keith sort of chokes the words out as though they're coated in poison. "You gave him a bloody key! So I knew this  _relationship_  must have been going on for a while. It just felt like after Charlotte died, you packed up and moved on. Like she never meant anything to you."

"That's not how it happened."

"All I could think about was how she chose you over me. And look how you turned out."

The words hit Jimmy like a wet slap. He wants to argue with that, but he's got more important things to worry about.

"So I decided I didn't want to talk to you, but of course I changed my mind. You weren't home the second time, so I snuck inside and left the letter on your bed." Keith sighs. "If I accused you of killing her, I knew you'd go to the ends of the earth to prove your innocence. Same with saying Scarlet isn't your daughter. I figured you'd try to find out for sure, and if she isn't..."

But Jimmy's not listening, because a seemingly irrelevant detail has snagged his attention, and he realizes with mounting dread that something is horribly wrong. "If you passed your damn disease on to Charlotte, she would have passed it on to her child no matter who she conceived with." Jimmy feels an icy nerve jangle puncture a hole through his chest. "Charlotte could have passed it to me..."

And Jimmy could have unknowingly infected Robert.

"You  _motherfucker_ ," he sobs. Not only did Keith destroy Jimmy's relationship with Charlotte and possibly father Scarlet, but he also left behind a booby trap that just blew Jimmy's legs off.

Keith sort of shrinks away from the word. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea any of this would happen. Page, you've got to believe me."

Jimmy grits his teeth. "You've lied to me for years. Why should I start trusting you now?"

"Why would I lie about this? How could it possibly benefit me?"

Jimmy doesn't know. He tries another avenue. "Did you know Peter Grant has Charlotte's engagement ring?"

He hoped throwing that in Keith's face would make himself feel better, but it doesn't. All it does is remind him that neither of them, no matter how much they loved her, truly knew Charlotte.

Keith looks like he's been punched. His face flits between expressions before he says, "How do you know that?"

"Robert—'my bloke'—posed as a reporter for Melody Maker to gain access to Grant's home," Jimmy says. "He discovered the ring in Grant's bedroom."

Keith makes a distressed noise and scrubs a hand through his thinning hair. His eyes flood with tears.

"Did you hire Peter to cut the brakes on my car?"

"No!" Keith shouts, looking aghast at the accusation. "I never—I never wanted any of this to happen," he sobs. "It's my fault."

Jimmy swallows thickly. "What did you do, Keith?"

More tears. Keith buries his face in his hands and starts sobbing. Jimmy has no idea how someone so dessicated can still produce so many tears.

"Look, if you know something—if you're all about expunging your guilt—you have to go to the police."

Keith cries harder. Jimmy isn't sure what to think. Is Keith's guilt the result of having a conscience, or is it borne of self-preservation?

"Robert and I know an ex-policeman. He's a fantastic guy. Maybe he can work out some sort of deal for you."

Keith's blubbering pauses for a moment, and he wipes his eyes with his hands. "No, no, Page, you don't understand—"

"What is there to understand? If you love Charlotte, do right by her. There's no physical evidence that could possibly convict anyone. It all depends on a confession. You die, and so does Charlotte's chance of getting justice."

"I can't. I—I just can't."

Jimmy doesn't have time for this shit. He grabs Keith by the collar of his shirt and yanks him close. "Why? What are you afraid of? You've got a death sentence already. You'd really rather die by letting this disease eat away at you cell by cell? Until you can't do a damn thing for yourself? For God's sake, grow some fucking balls." Jimmy shoves him away, disgusted by Keith's cowardice.

Keith sniffles and wraps his arms around himself like he's cold. It takes him a moment, but he finally opens up. "When I found out Charlotte was going to marry you, even though she didn't know if the baby was mine or yours... I was pissed off. I went to a pub and got wasted. I ranted to Peter Grant." He lifts his eyes to Jimmy. "But you have to understand, I never, ever, told him to do anything. I loved Charlotte! I didn't want her dead!"

Jimmy expected that answer—braced for it, even—but the blow still lands with enough force to knock him back a step. "But—but you had the greatest motive."

"I know. Grant knew it too. That's why he set me up."

The words swirl in Jimmy's head.

"After the wreck, I asked him if he did something because of our conversation. He said if I ever spoke a word about it, he'd rat me out as an accomplice. So I kept quiet."

Jimmy blinks, his blurry eyes unseeing. "Until you found out you were sick... But why would he want to kill Charlotte? He has her engagement ring. I thought he cared for her."

"He did. He wasn't trying to kill her."

Jimmy's confused until he isn't, until the final pieces snap together in his head, and the words hit him like cinder blocks. All this time he's been looking at this the wrong way. He assumed whoever cut the brakes was trying to kill Charlotte. But Charlotte wasn't the only person in the car. Hell, the car didn't even belong to Charlotte.

Jimmy always knew there was a reason he blamed himself.

* * *

Keith closes down after that. There will be no more give today.

Jimmy departs from the flat and heads to his car. He drives home on auto-pilot. Jimmy feels himself go numb. He hasn't felt like this since the immediate aftermath of Charlotte's death. It's anesthetizing, sticking to him like snowflakes, and his mind does all it can to keep the pain at bay. Because when the pain comes, it will destroy him.

When Jimmy gets home, he helps the numbness along with half a bottle of Jack. But drunkenness has a way of becoming sadness pretty quickly, and he's left with the nagging voice in his head he's been trying to silence, louder this time, amplified by the alcohol.

_Your fault, Jimmy. Your fault. Only a magnificent fuck-up like yourself could survive a murder plot meant to take you out. What was the point of all this, exactly? Did you think you would heroically bring down Charlotte's murderer and prove that the people you love wouldn't be better off without you? Scarlet's probably not even your daughter—a daughter who, by the way, most likely has a disease that's going to kill her before she's old enough to drink. A disease which you've probably passed on to Robert, so way to go on ruining his life too. Did you really need more proof that everything you touch turns to shit?_

And so it goes. Jimmy doesn't bother fighting it. Listening to this is his punishment for killing Charlotte.

Then there's another voice, and it's definitely not in his head. "Daddy! Daddy, guess what?"

Jimmy turns his head in the direction of his daughter's voice. Scarlet and Robert have come through the front door. Scarlet climbs beside him on the couch and hugs him. "You have to guess!"

Jimmy chuckles. "What is it?"

"Mr. Plant said we can go on holiday this summer!"

"If it's okay with your daddy, of course," Robert reminds her. He gives Jimmy a tight smile, sensing that Jimmy is completely wasted.

"That sounds lovely," Jimmy says. "I could use a holiday." He kisses her forehead and hugs her tightly. She's a tiny thing beneath all the layers Robert made her wear to brave the cold. And if she's got Keith's disease, she'll need them more than ever.

"Daddy, are you drunk?" Scarlet asks, because he's been hugging her so long that it's crossed the line into awkward. Unless she's scared or crying, Scarlet has her limits on how long she'll let him hug her.

"Scarlet, honey, why don't you go upstairs and play for a tic?" Robert suggests. "I need to talk to your daddy alone."

"Is he in trouble?" She asks as Jimmy, mercifully, lets her go.

"No, of course not," Robert promises, and even Jimmy, through his alcohol-soaked film of consciousness, knows that's a goddamn lie.

Scarlet accepts the answer, though, hops off of the couch and runs up the stairs.

Robert watches her with a wistful smile before he turns to Jimmy. He grabs the nearly-empty bottle of Jack Daniels off of the coffee table. "Drinking straight from the bottle now, are we?" he says in his disapproving teacher voice.

Jimmy reaches for the bottle, but Robert snatches it out of his grasp. He sets the bottle at the far end of the table and sits beside Jimmy on the couch. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Jimmy closes his eyes for a long while.

"Whatever it is, we can handle it," Robert says, throwing Jimmy's own words back at him.

Jimmy's eyes burn with tears. He's done everything he can to push this out of his mind, but he needs to open up and talk about it, even if doing so makes it real. "Keith told me what really happened that night. Peter Grant cut the brake line. But I was s'posed to die in the wreck," he says. "I think a part of me always knew that. 'S'why I felt so guilty about surviving."

"Oh, Pagey..." Robert lays a comforting hand on Jimmy's arm, rubbing it up and down. "I'm so sorry."

"That's not even the worst part." Jimmy tries to laugh, but the sound doesn't come out. "Keith's dying. He's got some immune disorder that's slowly killing him, and there's no way to stop it. He doesn't know when he got sick, but if he had it when he was with Charlotte..."

Robert's expression crumples in tremendous pain. "Oh God..."

"Scarlet could I have it. I could have it." Jimmy casts his eyes away from Robert for a brief second. "You."

Robert starts to cry. Jimmy feels like crying too, but the numbness hasn't peeled away yet. He feels a sick tightness in his gut. They weren't supposed to end up like this.

Robert makes a noise, something choked and raw that stops in his throat. He wipes his tears away with a trembling hand. "Is there any way to find out if she has it?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Keith says that the doctors don't even know what it is or if it even exists. So I don't know how they would test for it."

Robert shakes his head in blunt, ragged refusal. The tears are coming faster and harder now, his sobs raw, lost sounds that carve Jimmy to pieces.

"I never told you how Karac died," Robert says, his voice a gravel drag of hurt. Jimmy says nothing, just entwines his fingers with Robert's own, like he can hold him together. "It was a viral infection. Nobody really knew what it was exactly. It was just—one day he was fine, the next he... wasn't."

Jimmy squeezes his hand a little tighter.

"If Scarlet has the same thing..."

Jimmy gives a quick shake of his head. "Everything's gonna be fine," he says, even though he knows nothing's going to be okay anymore. "We'll deal with it."

"Did Keith tell you where he was diagnosed? Maybe—if you take Scarlet to the same doctor, he'd know what to look for."

"Good idea," Jimmy agrees. He's thankful Robert's able to help him plot their next move.

They sit in a suffocating silence for a while, Robert's arms wrapped around Jimmy, Jimmy sniffling into his chest like a small child. Robert asks, "Do you know why Peter Grant wanted to kill you?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. And why didn't he finish the job? Maybe he was distraught about what happened to Charlotte, but... If it were me, that would only make me angrier." Jimmy shrugs and forces himself to disentangle from the comfort of Robert's embrace. He sort of staggers as he stands up, his depth perception thoroughly fucked. "You wanna start on dinner or should I?"

Robert volunteers to cook while Jimmy calls Keith for the details about the doctor who diagnosed him. Keith's happy to supply Jimmy with the information, as though doing so is some sort of atonement for his sins. It's still sort of early, so Jimmy calls the doctor's office and sets up an appointment for tomorrow morning at ten.

Jimmy helps Scarlet wash up before dinner. "How would you like to go to the doctor tomorrow?" he asks as he's drying her hair with a towel.

Scarlet makes a face. "I don't like the doctor."

"It's just a check-up, dear. Maybe you'll have to get a shot"—Scarlet gasps in horror, her eyes going wide—"but I'll get one too. You'll see, it'll be okay. You've gotten shots before and survived."

Scarlet does not appear convinced.

"I would never make you do anything that would hurt you," Jimmy says. "Besides, if you're good, I'll take you for ice cream after we see the doctor."

The mention of ice cream doesn't seem to persuade her, but she thinks for a moment before acquiescing. "Okay."

When Scarlet gets into the kitchen, she asks, "Mr. Plant, can you go with me and Daddy to the doctor's tomorrow?"

"I wish I could, sweetie, but I have to go to school."

Scarlet shoots Jimmy a look of betrayal. "Why don't I have to go to school?"

Jimmy almost laughs, because he never imagined he'd have a child who actually enjoys school. "Because the doctor wants to see you during school hours."

Scarlet pouts at him.

"Ice cream, remember?" Jimmy reminds her, because that usually works.

"Are you bribing her?" Robert asks with a hint of a smile.

"I prefer the term 'persuasion.' It sounds so much nicer."

Robert tsks-tsks his disapproval of Jimmy's semantics lesson and sets the table with steaming plates of food. "Scarlet, it's really important that you see the doctor tomorrow."

"Why? I don't feel sick."

"Maybe not, but sometimes people can get sick and not know it. So they have to go to the doctor and find out. That's why Karac isn't here anymore."

"'Cause he got sick and didn't go to the doctor?"

Robert nods. "I don't want that to happen to you. I know you enjoy what we do in class, but missing one day isn't that big a deal. When I get home tomorrow, I'll be happy to read to you or play a game or whatever you want to do."

Scarlet looks much more agreeable now. "Okay!"

Robert gives Jimmy a cocky sort of smirk, but it's weathered around the edges, like talking about Karac has torn him up inside. Or maybe he's fucking terrified that this little girl might have to pay the ultimate price for her mother's indiscretions.

They fall into their usual warm familiarity over dinner, the tension from today's events almost nonexistent. Jimmy can't tell if Robert's faking it for Scarlet's sake. He can't allow himself to really think about it yet. Maybe tonight when he's alone with Robert he can let the weakness crush him.

Scarlet opts to have Robert read to her tonight, because she won't see him for about a whopping sixteen hours, which is probably an eternity for a five-year-old. After tucking Scarlet into bed, Jimmy leaves her with Robert and retreats into the shower. He stands under the scorching surge of water, letting it spill over him and melt away the shield of numbness. His eyes burn as a few tears escape.

Jimmy allows himself a few seconds of self-pity. What did he do to deserve this mess? If this is some sort of karmic payback for something he did, why do Scarlet and Robert have to suffer for it? What could he have done that would make Peter Grant want him dead?

Jimmy stays under the hot spray until his quiet sobs cease. He gets dressed and dries his hair unceremoniously. After brushing his teeth, he steps out of the bathroom and finds Robert sitting on the corner of the bed. "It's all yours if you want it," Jimmy murmurs, trying to hide the way his voice shakes.

Robert watches him for a moment, like he's waiting for Jimmy to say something else, before he stands up and heads into the fogged-up bathroom.

When Robert comes to bed, Jimmy cuddles close and tucks his face against Robert's throat. Robert slides his arms around Jimmy's waist. Jimmy feels him trembling with faint sobs. He stains the front of Robert's t-shirt with tears, hating every hitching breath. But Robert's making soft little noises in Jimmy's hair, fingers digging in tight around his hips.

Jimmy doesn't bother swallowing his own ache anymore.


	18. Chapter 18

Jimmy and Scarlet meet with Keith’s doctor, Dr. Fallon, at Kingston Hospital the next morning. Dr. Fallon greets them with a warm smile and a too-enthusiastic handshake that makes Jimmy think of smarmy politicians. “Good to meet you, Jimmy. Can I call you Jimmy?”

“Sure, Dr. Fallon.”

“Just call me Beep.”

Beep? Oh, Jimmy doesn’t think so.

Dr. Fallon smiles at Scarlet, who’s sitting beside Jimmy on the examination table. “And this must be your daughter.”

Jimmy thinks about that. Lookswise, Scarlet favors her mother, which Jimmy’s always seen as a plus, but now it makes him wonder.

“Hi, Dr. Beep,” she says with a wave.

“I appreciate you taking the time to see us,” Jimmy starts.

“It’s my pleasure. You were in the Yardbirds with Keith, yeah?”

Jimmy’s always surprised by the memory of the public. After all these years, people still remember his short stint in a group that never seemed to be that big of a deal in England. Or maybe the accident garnered him a bit more fame. Sad, but probably accurate. “I was.”

“So how much do you know about this virus?”

“I thought that was your job,” Jimmy jokes lamely.

Dr. Fallon’s smirk says _tell me one I haven’t heard_.

Jimmy clears his throat. “Keith said it breaks down the wall that protects you from disease.”

“That’s a good way of putting it. This virus breaks down the immune system so the patient is susceptible to a host of illnesses and infections. Eventually, those illnesses or infections become fatal. So the virus, in and of itself, doesn’t kill people. It’s not a common virus, and people afflicted with it show a wide range of symptoms from varying illnesses. Because it looks like other things, it’s often misdiagnosed.”

Scarlet’s immersed in a magazine she took from the waiting room, so Jimmy isn’t too concerned about having this conversation in front of her. Odds are she’s not listening to either of them anyway.

Jimmy says, “So, if my daughter or I have this disease, something like the bloody flu could take us out?”

Dr. Fallon sort of shrugs. “If the virus had progressed far enough, yes.”

Jimmy tries to think about his and Scarlet’s illnesses over the years. Scarlet’s had a few colds now and then, mostly due to her insistence on playing out in the rain and the snow, but nothing severe. All things considered, Jimmy’s been in pretty good health too. Maybe they’re not infected. But this sure as hell isn’t something you take a gamble on.

Jimmy asks, “I understand it can hide in the body for years?”

“It can take some time to break the immune system down enough where the patient really starts showing symptoms. The medical community still doesn’t know very much about this virus. There have only been a handful of cases over the years.”

“How would you get it? Is it like a cold, or...”

Dr. Fallon shakes his head. “From what we know, the virus is transmitted through fluids. So blood-to-blood contact”—he glances at Scarlet for a moment—“and, uh, other types of fluids.”

Keith’s reaction when Jimmy punched him makes a lot more sense now. “If someone was infected and conceived a child, that child would be infected too?”

“To keep it simple, I’ll say, yes, that’s accurate. Generally, mother-to-child transmission is more likely, especially through breast milk. Was your daughter breast-fed?”

Jimmy feels an icy chill expanding upward from his stomach. “She was...”

Dr. Fallon exhales slowly.

“And there’s no cure? Not even any sort of treatment?”

“Medical science hasn’t come that far yet.”

“How would you go about testing for it?”

“Simply put: a blood test. However, there is a short window period where false negatives can arise—about three weeks to six months between the time of infection and the production of measurable antibodies.”

“We’re well past that point,” Jimmy says grimly.

“Then the test should be extremely accurate,” Dr. Fallon says, hopeful. He moves for the door.

Jimmy clears his throat again. “W—wait. What’s—what’s your gut say, y’know? If she has it... She would have been born with it. Wouldn’t there have been some sort of sign something wasn’t right? How could she have lived this long with her immune system struggling to develop—or not even developing at all?”

“Jimmy, I understand your concerns. You’re right, it would be difficult for her to reach this age with no warning signs if she were infected, but I’m sure we’ll all feel a lot better once we know for certain. I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer right now. As hard as it is, you’ll have to wait and see what the test results say.”

Jimmy nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“The nurse will be with you in a moment,” Dr. Fallon says before slipping out the door.

Jimmy wonders if he should ask for a paternity test, just to be certain. Even if he found out Scarlet wasn’t his, would that change anything? Would he love her any less? Does it even matter? Like Robert said, a father is more than just a sperm donor. A father is there, loves and cares and provides for his child. Keith did none of those things.

If Karac were still alive, Jimmy would love Robert’s son as fiercely as he loves Scarlet. Why is this any different?

When the nurse enters the room, Jimmy volunteers to go first for Scarlet’s sake. He rolls up his sleeve, lets the needle pierce his skin. He gives Scarlet an “it’s okay” sort of smile, tries his hardest to keep the fear off his face. First and foremost, Jimmy is a father. A father shields his children.

When it’s Scarlet’s turn, Jimmy keeps up the smile and says, “Don’t be scared,” but he hears the hollowness in his voice. “It’s just a little pinch, then it’s over.”

Scarlet trusts him enough to relax, and the needle goes in. She watches the procedure with an almost frightening calm, as though facing the scary moment head-on has given her courage. That is way too well-adjusted for Jimmy.

The nurse withdraws the needle and says, “Dr. Fallon will contact you with the results in about three weeks.”

* * *

  
Robert doesn’t like the quiet, but when he stays at work after hours, well, he’s shit out of luck. He keeps a small AM radio on his desk, but the tinny sound of top 40 hits can’t replace the lively noise of children that fills his days.

It’s strange when Scarlet isn’t present in Robert’s classroom, when he doesn’t get to see Jimmy’s shy smile at the end of the school day. He wonders how Jimmy and Scarlet’s doctor visit went, what the test results might say. No doubt Jimmy will be stuck in the purgatory of suspense for weeks, not only for himself, but for Scarlet and Robert’s sakes as well.

Robert’s never given much thought to how he’s going to die, but he knows he’ll be thinking about it a lot until those test results come back.

A brisk knock on the open classroom door makes Robert look up from his desk. Standing in the doorway is a tall, well-built man with what looks like a gold earring in one ear. Robert gives him a quick once-over, because, hey, he’s still a dude. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Plant, I presume?”

“That would be me.”

The man ducks underneath the doorpost and slithers inside, approaching Robert’s desk. Robert doesn’t think this guy is one of his student’s parents, but upon closer inspection the man’s face looks somewhat familiar. “My name is Richard Cole.”

Robert’s blood turns to ice.

“I understand you visited a business partner of mine: Peter Grant,” Cole continues, oblivious to—or perhaps taking advantage of—Robert’s stunned silence, because he moves closer, his towering form casting a long shadow over Robert.

Robert feels the quake in his legs, despite sitting down. “How do you know that?”

“Well, if someone managed to catch the license plate of the car you were driving when you paid Mr. Grant a visit, it wouldn’t be too difficult...” Cole trails off, staring intently at Robert. He lifts an eyebrow as a smirk crawls across his face. “I’m sorry, you wouldn’t happen to be from Birmingham, would you?”

Robert doesn’t know how to feel about that sudden conversational swerve. “Um, I am.”

Cole’s smirk widens. “I thought so. See, I meet a lot of people at clubs—men and women—and I might forget a face, but I never forget a mouth.” He actually reaches out and tilts Robert’s chin, his thumb grazing over Robert’s lower lip. “Especially one that’s served me so well.”

A sickening roil of realization churns in his gut. So _that’s_ why Cole’s face is familiar.

Robert’s tempted to bite Cole’s thumb off, but Jimmy warned him what this guy’s capable of, and he’s a little too stunned right now to do anything other than stare and sweat.

If Robert survives this, at least he’ll have an amusing anecdote to tell Jimmy over tea and crumpets: _So you’ll never guess who I gave a blowjob back in the day..._

Cole drops his hand away. “I hope Jimmy appreciates what he’s got.”

“You know about Jimmy?” Robert says, his voice somewhat of a whimper.

“Yes, Robert, I’ve been following you. Try to keep up.”

Robert knows Cole didn’t come here to buy him ice cream or stroll down memory lane. “What do you want?”

“I’d like to know why you were at Peter Grant’s home, for starters,” Cole says.

“He didn’t tell you that?”

“I wanna hear your version.”

“And if I don’t wanna tell you?”

Cole leans closer, his voice low and quiet. “If you don’t, well, I know about Jimmy. I’ll drag you down, and it will be uglier than you ever imagined.”

Robert considers his options. Lying will do him no good, so that’s out. Being honest will put Jimmy in danger, especially if Cole and Grant are as violent as Jimmy said. And refusing to talk will jeopardize his career, as well as his own and Jimmy’s personal safety. Could Robert bargain with Cole, buy him off somehow?

“You seem like a reasonable bloke. There must be some way we can work this out,” Robert says, a hint of suggestion in his voice.

Cole smiles in a way that’s too knowing, dark and cruel. “What would Jimmy say?”

“Jimmy isn’t gonna know about it.” Jimmy’s still woozy from the revelation of Charlotte’s long-standing affair with Keith; a betrayal by Robert—and that’s how Jimmy would see it—would destroy him. Robert’s heart collapses. Cheating on Jimmy is unthinkable, but if it’s what he must do to protect him...

Maybe, at some distant point in the future, Robert can sit Jimmy down and explain to him that none of this is his fault, that Cole fucked both of them.

“Not that simple,” Cole says.

“Name your price.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” Cole sneers, “but I don’t think you’re gonna be able to suck or fuck your way out of this one.”

There’s a possibility—slim as it may be—that this has nothing to do with Charlotte or Jimmy. Tread gently, fair Robert. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll fill in the gaps?”

Cole bites his lips together in a flat line but gives in. “I know you came ‘round to Peter Grant’s place under the guise of a music journalist. Obviously that was a load of shit.”

Robert’s just going to trust that Cole’s done the necessary research there. No point in getting caught in a lie. “Anything else?”

“You asked about the Yardbirds and Bad Company, and left under rather suspicious circumstances.”

“That’s about the jist of it,” Robert says, spreading his hands. He knows he can only stall for so long.

“So why were you really there? What are you chasing after?”

Out of time. Robert opens his mouth to speak just as Ms. Hamilton walks by the open doorway.

“Oh, Robert, I didn’t know you were still here!” she says, as though embarrassed about the intrusion. But how could she not know? Her classroom is next door to his own. She tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Um, when you’re finished here, would you care to get a cup of tea with me?”

Robert doesn’t know if she’s genuinely asking him on a sort-of date or offering him an easy out for an awkward situation, but either way, he’ll take it if it means getting rid of Cole. “Sure, just give me a tic.”

She smiles in response and ducks out of sight.

He looks at Cole, who offers up a smile. Well, his mouth smiles. His eyes didn’t seem to get the memo, still boring into Robert with a cold stare. “Your luck will run out eventually, Robert.”

“What luck? A father should never have to bury his son,” Robert says, wielding his personal tragedy like a weapon.

Cole’s face twitches in what Robert thinks might be sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says as he turns to leave. “We’ll be in touch.”

Robert hears Cole’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall. He slinks into the hallway and watches him leave. Once Cole gets into a car and drives off, Robert decides it’s safe to visit Ms. Hamilton. He should probably start calling her Audrey now.

“So who’s the big guy?” she asks as Robert steps inside her empty classroom.

Robert wonders how to answer that. “Someone from a very long time ago.”

“You didn’t sound very happy to see him.”

“You were listening?” Oh Christ, how much did she hear?

“I didn’t hear any horrible, life-altering secrets, if that’s what you’re worried about. At least, I don’t think I did.”

“So you don’t really wanna go for tea?” Robert says, half-joking. He could use the distraction.

Audrey’s expression brightens at the offer. “Well, if you’re buying...”

* * *

  
When Robert gets home, Jimmy’s already in the middle of making dinner. He’s beyond wondering how Jimmy can function in the midst of all this emotional chaos. On some level, the domesticity must help him, a level of normalcy to keep him steady. Robert does, however, notice the bottle of Jack on the kitchen counter near the stovetop, and he doubts Jimmy’s cooking with it.

Jimmy smiles when Robert steps into the kitchen. God, he’s so fucking beautiful. Robert still can’t get over the fact that someone so handsome would have any use for him. “I thought you weren’t coming,” Jimmy says.

“I always come for you.”

Jimmy smirks at the private joke. He’s cooking something that smells like garlic on the stovetop. Scarlet’s nestled on the couch watching TV. Robert lays a hand on Jimmy’s waist and kisses his cheek. Jimmy’s mouth curls into a smile. “Any particular reason for the hold-up?” he says, trying casual. “Not to be a nag or anything, I just... I worry.”

Of course Jimmy can read him, can tell that something’s bothering him despite his best attempts to hide it. Robert shrugs and says, “I’ll tell you tonight.”

“Bullshit,” Jimmy hisses under his breath. “Tell me now.”

Robert hadn’t realized how this looks. On the heels of Charlotte’s betrayal, Jimmy could interpret this as Robert stepping out on him too.

Jimmy’s standing there waiting for the blow, so Robert delivers it. “Richard Cole visited me today.”

Jimmy’s eyes go wide, but Robert thinks he sees a pinch of relief there. “What? At the school?”

“He wanted to know why I visited Peter Grant.”

“Oh Jesus...” Jimmy just sort of stares at the mixture in the pot for a moment before switching off the heat. “You didn’t—Did you tell him?”

“I wasn’t really sure what the best option was. I got lucky, a co-worker interrupted us. I s’pose Cole was just surveying the situation, y’know? Grant must have told him about my visit, and he tracked me down through my license plates.”

Jimmy’s shaking his head in disbelief. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

“Getting involved was my idea,” Robert reminds him. “You were against it.”

That doesn’t ease the distressed crease of Jimmy’s brow or the way his perfect lips quiver under the threat of tears. He reaches for the bottle of Jack and takes a long drink. Robert doesn’t stop him. “Did he threaten you?” Jimmy says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Not with violence, which I thought was odd. He said ‘I know about Jimmy,’ so I guess he’s planning on revealing our relationship.” No point in mentioning the more, uh, personal connection Robert has with Cole.

“You’ll lose your job...”

“If anyone believes it,” Robert says with a dismissive handwave. “We were both married to women, we both suffered unimaginable tragedies, your daughter’s in my class...” He shrugs. “Most people would just assume we’re mates through circumstance and leave it at that.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy says, sounding distant.

Robert lays a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “We can call Bonzo after dinner and see what he thinks. Maybe there’s something we’re missing.”

They spend the meal in a weirdly manufactured happiness for Scarlet’s sake. Robert’s better at it, both due to practice and the fact that the food is pretty awesome tonight. His compliments lift Jimmy’s spirits, and the mood begins to feel a bit more like home.

Half an hour later, the kitchen’s cleaned up, and Jimmy’s upstairs getting Scarlet ready for bed. Robert stays downstairs, twirling the phone cord around his finger while he tells Bonzo about his run-in with Richard Cole.

When Robert’s finished, Bonzo makes a contemplative noise. “Do you think we should go to the police?” Robert asks.

“Well, imagine you’re a cop. You’ve learned Jimmy’s wife-to-be betrayed him in a horrible way. Then she ends up dead. What would you think?”

“That he had something to do with it.”

“And what about Keith? If he goes to the police, maybe they won’t buy his story about Grant being behind it. After all, Keith had a damn good motive to want Jimmy and Charlotte dead.”

Of course, Grant set it up that way.

Bonzo continues, “And why would two managers want their golden goose dead? It couldn’t have been ‘cause Jimmy was gonna quit the band; if he was dead, he wouldn’t be able to play at all, so how does that help them? They’re businessmen. They would’a found a way to negotiate Jimmy back into the fold.”

“So that’s a no on calling the police, then?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’ve got no case, really. No physical proof that’ll point the finger at anyone specific. The way things are now, it’s too easy to think Jimmy set this all up himself.” Robert cuts in to protest Jimmy’s innocence, but Bonzo stops him. “I know he didn’t, but that’s what the police are gonna assume. An overwhelming percentage of violent crimes are committed by the victim’s husband or boyfriend or what-have-you. ‘When you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras.’”

Robert sighs, rakes a hand through his hair.

“I’m not saying don’t trust them,” Bonzo says, “but odds are it’ll just waste time and cause more trouble.”

“We just need police protection, at the very least for Scarlet.”

“They can’t watch you forever. When the trail runs cold—and it will, because I doubt either of those blokes are gonna confess—the cops will leave, and Grant and Cole will come. That only delays the inevitable.”

“Then what do we do?” Robert says, his voice breaking.

“Bring Scarlet to me. She’ll be safe. I’ll tell Jimmy how to handle this.”

“He’s upstairs with Scarlet, but I can put him on—”

“No, I’ll tell him when he gets his arse over here.”

“Oh...” Dread crawls over Robert. He doesn’t know why Bonzo won’t tell him about the plan, or will only tell Jimmy in person, but it can’t be anything good. “Um, how long should we plan for Scarlet to stay?”

“A few days, at least. Now, c’mon, daylight’s wastin’.” Bonzo hangs up before Robert can argue.

Dazed, Robert takes the stairs one at a time. He finds Jimmy in Scarlet’s bedroom, tucking her into bed. Jimmy hears Robert’s footsteps and looks up, worry etched on his face. He murmurs something to Scarlet before meeting Robert in the doorway. Robert leads him away so they can talk without Scarlet overhearing.

“So what did Bonzo say?”

Robert twists the bangle around his wrist. “He said the cops won’t be any help. In fact, they’ll probably suspect you.”

Jimmy’s already-heartbroken expression falls.

“So, he wants us to bring Scarlet over so he and Pat can watch her for a few days. And, um, he said he would tell you what to do when you get there.”

“He wouldn’t tell you?”

Robert shakes his head.

“If Grant and Cole have been following us, won’t they know to look for her at Bonzo’s?”

“Bonzo’s a lot better prepared for something like that than, say, Jonesy would be.”

Jimmy looks pensive, chews his lower lip for a moment. He glances in the direction of Scarlet’s bedroom. “You wanna tell her?”

Robert nods and slips into the room, Jimmy trailing behind him. Scarlet’s expression lights up when she sees him. “How would you like to have a sleepover at Uncle Bonzo’s?” Robert asks, sitting beside her on the bed.

“Tonight?” Her reaction is about the same as if Robert told her they’re going to Disneyland.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” Robert says.

“Will Jason be there? He lets me play with his dinosaurs.”

“Of course he will. He lives there too.”

Scarlet’s pretty amenable to the idea, so she eagerly helps Jimmy fill her suitcase with clothes and toys. They’re out the door and loaded into Robert’s truck in about thirty minutes. Robert opts to drive, because he knows the way and Jimmy doesn’t like driving at night. Scarlet dozes off about ten minutes into the drive, the rumble of the engine and the roll of pavement under the tires lulling her to sleep. Jimmy just gazes out the window as the scenery rolls by in the dark.

When they reach their destination, Bonzo greets them with a beleaguered smile, as though he’s sharing their pain. Scarlet darts inside to greet Pat and Jason, and Jimmy watches his daughter disappear into the family room, where plenty of plastic dinosaurs are spread out over the floor. God, he loves her so much that it’s hard to breathe.

“Thank you so much,” Jimmy says to Bonzo, because, seriously, this guy’s a lifesaver.

“’S not a problem. You’re family.” He claps Jimmy on the shoulder and looks at Robert. “Piss off for a tic, would ya?” he says, good-naturedly. Robert does as he’s told and joins Pat and the kids in the family room.

Once Robert’s gone, Bonzo leads Jimmy into the kitchen where they can talk undisturbed. Jimmy sits in one of the empty chairs. “So what’s the plan?” he asks, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “How do you s’pose I keep Grant and Cole from killing us?”

Bonzo answers that by reaching into the back of his waistband and setting a small, almost toylike gun on the kitchen table.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Immediately, Jimmy scoots away from the gun as though being near it might taint him in some way. "Whoa, hold on, you can't be serious."

"I thought you were afraid for your daughter," Bonzo says.

Jimmy can't believe it's down to this, that cold-blooded murder is the only option. "There has to be another way. How am I supposed to get away with this?"

Bonzo sits across from him at the table. "After you do the deed, loop his finger 'round the trigger and fire off a couple shots. That'll put gunshot residue on his hand." Jimmy just shakes his head, stunned. "Pick up his other hand and scratch yourself with it so it looks like you shot him in self-defense. The gun won't lead back to me; you don't have to worry about that."

Jimmy opens his mouth, closes it, finally finds words. "There's no way this will work."

"Yeah, there's holes and plenty of skepticism, but the physical evidence should be enough to keep away any charges."

" _Should be_..."

"In my professional opinion."

Jimmy stares at the weapon. He's beyond wondering where it came from, how Bonzo obtained it. "I've never fired a gun in my life."

"It's not rocket science. You aim for the chest, you squeeze the trigger."

Jimmy stands up and starts pacing the kitchen. "No, no, c'mon, there has to be another way. Why is it my job to do this? Keith should shoot him; he's the one who dredged all of this up after five years! And for what? Because he thinks he's Scarlet's biological father? Well, it's a little too bloody late for that, isn't it? What about me, huh? I'm s'posed to have this hanging over my head, looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life?"

He grunts a frustrated noise and digs his hands through his hair. "I've got no choice, do I? I have to fight them."

Bonzo nods sagely. He doesn't look happy about it, but that's hardly any consolation.

Jimmy sighs, drops into the chair again. Bonzo shows him how to load the gun and how to use the safety. Jimmy watches and listens in somewhat of a daze. If he does this, he'll cross a line he's never gone near before. You don't get a free pass on something like this, even if you have no choice. It will haunt him at night. But as long as Grant and Cole are alive, they are a threat to Jimmy's family.

Jimmy thinks about his daughter's smile, her laugh, how she brought him and Robert together, how she looks at both of them like they're the most powerful men in the world.

Jimmy tucks the gun into the waistband of his jeans, hidden beneath the hem of his shirt. He understands now why Bonzo said nothing to Robert. Robert would, of course, try to stop Jimmy. He would try to look for another way when, really, there isn't one. He would know about the plan, possibly incriminating Jimmy and himself. It has to happen this way.

"If you can, try to make sure it happens in your home," Bonzo says as Jimmy rises. "That doesn't mean invite him over for a pint, but, y'know."

Jimmy nods. Could he live in a house where he killed someone? If he knew where the body fell, where the blood spread out over the carpet, could he step over that hallowed ground each day?

"If anything happens to me," Jimmy says, "make sure Scarlet stays with Robert."

"I'll do what I can."

Scarlet doesn't seem too worried when Robert and Jimmy bid her goodnight. Jimmy's thankful she's not too curious why she's staying here and not with Jonesy. He doesn't know how, if faced with her curiosity, he could smile and keep the truth from frightening her.

"I love you," Jimmy tells her, wrapping her in a hug. "More than anything."

"I love you too, Daddy." Scarlet seems oblivious to the weight of his words, but surely she must see the terror and anguish in his eyes. If she does, she doesn't say anything about it, just kisses his cheek in goodbye.

Jimmy's tempted to wrest her back for another hug, but he doesn't want to worry her by being too clingy. You never know when it will be the last time you see your child; if you did, you'd never let them go.

When they get outside, the cool night air smells of cut grass. If it weren't so cold out, Jimmy would hear the chirp of crickets, but the only sounds are the crunch of footsteps against the gravel. Jimmy will never get over how quiet the countryside is. It's almost a deafening sort of silence. He stares up at the starry sky for a moment before slipping into the passenger seat of the truck.

The gun digs into Jimmy's back when he leans against the seat. Robert looks over at him, curious. "What did Bonzo say to you?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Since when did you become Prime Minister?"

"Don't worry about it, love. I'll take care of it," Jimmy promises, gazing out the window. Before Robert can speak, Jimmy says, "Remember the last time we were in your truck at night?"

A hint of a smile appears at the corners of Robert's mouth. "Yeah." He reaches for Jimmy's hand and twines their fingers together. They stay that way for a long, wordless moment until Robert switches on the ignition.

* * *

While Robert showers, Jimmy dismantles the gun and stores it in one of his guitar cases. No reason for Robert to look in there and potentially discover the damn thing. But Jimmy feels the gun's presence as though it's directly underneath his bed.

Neither of them sleep very well that night.

When Jimmy wakes, Robert is gone. The bedside clock reads 10:58 a.m. It feels like a countdown more than anything now. Time's surface is slick as oil, and there's no way to hold on.

Jimmy finds a handwritten note from Robert on the bedside table:

_Pagey,_

_You and Bonzo are the only ones I could ever trust with my own life—or my child's. Whatever happens, I'm proud of us. ♥_

Jimmy wipes away the tears that have streaked down his face.

He stays at the house, the gun loaded and tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He watches. He waits. He drinks. Consuming alcohol is probably frowned upon when you're waiting for an assassin, but he needs the normalcy. It eases his nerves, and right now, his nerves are as jittery as a bunch of kids on a sugar high.

At some point in the afternoon, Jimmy dozes off on the foot of the staircase. He's awoken by the sound of the back door sliding open. Jimmy reacts immediately, running through his options in his head. One, he could rush in, guns a'blazing. But no, that's foolhardy and kind of fucking stupid. Or two, he could hide and take the intruder by surprise.

Jimmy plasters himself against the wall of the entryway. He grips his gun tighter and hopes against hope that the intruder, be it Grant or Cole, will just leave and never bother him again. His heart pounds against his chest as he hears footsteps draw nearer.

"Reliving old times, Page? Who better to relive them with than me?"

Jimmy freezes. He hasn't heard that voice in five years, but he'd recognize it anywhere.

Peter Grant. He must have seen Jimmy's car out front and assumed he was home. Stupid. So much for the element of surprise, though that doesn't eliminate it entirely.

Jimmy keeps quiet. If he speaks, Grant will know his location from the proximity of his voice. "I'm a little hurt you sent your bloke to speak with me," Grant says, his voice growing louder as he comes closer. "Under such a flimsy guise, too."

Grant's Hitchcockian girth comes into view as he steps into the foyer. Jimmy points the gun at him and growls, "Don't move."

Grant looks at Jimmy as though he's something small and adorable. The gun doesn't seem to frighten him; Jimmy doubted it would. "A gun, Page? Really?"

"You threatened my family."

Grant sort of shrugs. "A necessary evil. But this is business. Don't make it personal."

"The hell it's not!" Jimmy advances on him. Grant puts his hands up, backing away. "I know what happened now. After Charlotte and I announced our engagement, Keith got drunk and joined you at the pub. Maybe he wanted us dead, maybe he didn't. But it doesn't matter. The seed was planted. You saw Keith's drunken heartbreak as the perfect alibi. You cut the brake line on my car. Or maybe you had Cole do it."

Something dark flickers over Peter's face, but he doesn't say anything.

"Whatever Keith's role in all this actually was, he was terrified. He couldn't have thought it was truly an accident after the talk he had with you. He knew you had something to do with it. So you threatened him into silence. If he talked, you'd tell the police he gave you the idea. You'd both go down. Or maybe not. Keith certainly had motive to want myself and Charlotte dead. It was the perfect setup."

"You can't prove any of this," Grant says.

"Maybe not. But I don't have to." Jimmy presses the barrel of the gun underneath Grant's chin.

But when Grant sneaked inside, Jimmy never heard the back door shut, which allows a second intruder to slip into the house, behind Jimmy, and press the cold metal of a gun against his neck.

"Drop the gun, Page."

Jimmy's heart sinks to his knees. He doesn't have to glance behind him to know the voice belongs to Richard Cole. Even if Jimmy had never met these two men, he could sense the danger here. It radiates off of them in hot waves, like an exploding supernova. These are the kind of men who leave devastation in their wake.

Jimmy is so boned.

"Don't make me tell you again," Cole says.

Jimmy does as he's told. Cole confiscates the gun with one hand. How could Jimmy be so careless? He should have shot Grant when he had the chance.

Jimmy tries to keep from swaying, feeling his legs go weak beneath him.

"We're gonna take a ride," Grant says.

"Where?"

"That's not important," Cole says. "We're going to walk outside. There's a car waiting. You're going to get inside. If you try to signal someone, I will shoot them. If you scream, I will shoot you. Then, when your daughter comes home, I will shoot her too." He jabs the barrel of the gun into Jimmy's neck with each sentence.

A stone of fear expands in Jimmy's chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Do you understand?"

Jimmy barely manages a nod.

Grant claps a meaty paw on Jimmy's shoulder, making him jump. He nudges Jimmy forward, and Jimmy wills his rubbery legs to move. Jimmy knows if he gets in that van they're going to kill him. But what can he do? He doesn't have a weapon anymore, doesn't have a physical advantage.

Maybe he could take his chances on the highway.

An unmarked van is parked parallel to the street in front of Jimmy's house. "Get in," Grant says, opening the back door of the van. The seats are mostly cleared out, as well as the carpeting, revealing a bare metal floor. This is not going to be a pleasure trip.

"You don't want to do this," Jimmy says, his voice quaking.

"Now that's where you're wrong."

"Jim?"

Jimmy whirls toward the voice. Jonesy's standing on his front porch, looking at Jimmy with concerned curiosity. In his hand, he holds the leash at which his dog strains. Cold fear wraps around Jimmy's chest and draws tight.

_No, no, don't let them kill Jonesy..._

Jimmy forces up a smile, doing his best to assure him that everything's alright. "John, hey. How's it going?"

"Not too bad, I suppose. Isn't it time for you to pick up Scarlet from school?"

The dog barks once, twice, as though sensing the imminent danger.

Jimmy chuckles, gives a dismissive handwave. "I'm just going on a quick jaunt with some mates. Robert can take her home. He's got a key." Jimmy's not a praying man, but, God, he really fucking hopes Jonesy hears the cry for help beneath his words. Jonesy knows Jimmy would never rely on Robert to pick up his slack unless he couldn't leave work. And, Christ, it took Jimmy five years to start dating again—why would he suddenly have new friends? Friends he would choose over his daughter?

"Oh, alright then," Jonesy says, but there's a trace of skepticism in his voice. "Enjoy yourself."

Once Jonesy disappears inside the house, Grant sort of pushes Jimmy into the back of the van. There's a bench on one side, so that's where he sits. Grant slides in beside Jimmy and shuts the doors. Cole slips into the driver's seat and starts the engine.

Jimmy's not banking on the police coming to his rescue. He'll have to save himself. He isn't a skilled fighter or blessed with bulk, but if he stays smart and careful, he might be able to use the element of surprise to his advantage. Not like he's got any other options here.

As the van rolls down the street, Grant stares at Jimmy and says, "Why did you lie to your mate back there?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You said your daughter was in school. We know she's not."

On some level, Jimmy knows this is just a squeeze tactic, a way for Grant to shake him up, but, Jesus Christ, they've been watching his every move. Scarlet...

Shit just got so fucking real.

"Who else have you been watching?"

"Keith Relf, for one. You want to explain why he went to the police today? I'm assuming you had something to do with that."

So Keith was being watched too. That explains his erratic paranoia both times Jimmy showed up, as though he had been expecting someone far more dangerous.

"You want me to believe it's some grand coincidence that you start visiting Keith, then days later he pays a visit to the police?"

"I can't control what he does. Besides, he's the one who started all this. Why not go after him instead? He's dying anyway." Jimmy feels like a dick for saying that, but he would lay down anyone's life for his family, especially the life of a back-stabbing friend who's on death row.

"Keith is a bit of a wildcard," Grant says, "but would you believe him? On his own, no. Now, if an upstanding citizen like yourself were to corroborate his story, well, see, that might make his outrageous claims a bit more credible, seeing as you were involved in the accident."

"Don't call it that," Jimmy sneers, finding his voice. "It wasn't an  _accident_. You killed her. Whether or not she was the target is irrelevant. But you loved her, didn't you?"

The rage on Grant's face totters, and for the first time Jimmy sees the pain there.

"You didn't know Charlotte would be in that car. You wanted to kill me. What I can't figure out is why. Even if you wanted to frame Keith, why go after me?" Jimmy's been gnawing on the unrequited love theory, but it doesn't go down properly. Keith and Jeff had more motivation on that front.

"Simon warned me about you," Grant says after a moment. "He said you were a troublemaker. You stuck your nose in where it didn't belong."

"How?"

"You don't remember?"

Jimmy struggles for an answer.

Grant speaks with all the confidence of a man who's certain this information will never leave the vehicle. "Back when Simon was managing the 'Birds, he told me you were sniffing around our finances. I thought once we partnered with Mickie Most, you wouldn't be so worried where all the money was going. We had a good thing going. We made good money. But you just wouldn't let it go."

"I never—I never found anything..." Jimmy tries to remember what information he could have stumbled upon that Grant would kill for. His memories of the days before the accident are kind of hazy, but he vaguely recalls the band's finances seeming off somehow, as though they'd been overpaid by a couple venues or undercharged for studio time. But certainly nothing that struck him as criminal.

"But you would have," Cole speaks up. "You would have kept digging, just like you did with Charlotte's death. But all you've done is dig your own grave."

The sad part is Cole's probably right. This entire debacle is proof positive.

Jimmy swallows hard, hopes to keep his voice from cracking. "You were embezzling money from the band," he says in stunned realization. Keith and McCarty were too drugged-out to give a shit at that point, and Chris probably didn't care enough to take notice. But the business-minded Jimmy Page noticed.

Charlotte lost her life over something as meaningless as money. Just when Jimmy thought he couldn't hurt anymore, the revelation tears open his chest and shreds him apart.

"You ripped us off, and Charlotte ended up paying for it." Jimmy's hands clench into fists.

"We were only borrowing the money," Grant says, as though testing out his defense. "No one sets out to do something like that. It just sort of creeps up on you."

Jimmy wants to tell him to cut the bullshit, but the more Grant talks, the more Jimmy might learn.

"But let's say you're managing a tour featuring five shows a week and abysmal travel conditions, and maybe you need a few uppers to keep a handle on the whole thing, and you figure, what the hell, it's a legitimate expense. Then next time you butt heads with some aggressive club-owner and you need some pills to take the edge off. Then maybe a roadie's too strung-out to do his bloody job, so you end up covering for him, and the least the band can do is pay for your time, eh?"

Jimmy cannot believe he's hearing this.

"But that's how it starts," Grant's saying. "A slow slide. And one day you find yourself dipping into the funds for car payments and bills and whatnot. You'll pay it back, so it's not like anyone's getting hurt."

"But someone  _did_  get hurt," Jimmy snaps. "Why didn't you just—"

"What, let it go?" Grant scoffs. "You were digging into information that would have destroyed my family. My wife was eight months pregnant; we needed that money. What would you have done in my position?"

"So you destroyed my family to protect your own," Jimmy says lamely.

"Us or them, Page. That's what all of life is. Don't act like you wouldn't do the same thing if the tables were reversed."

Jimmy knows he would. "But you killed the wrong person. And you couldn't make a go of trying to kill me again. You got lucky enough the wreck was written off as an accident. The surviving passenger ending up dead later on would be too much of a coincidence."

"Not if it looked like a suicide," Cole says casually. Jimmy feels a chill. "But by that point, there was nothing to gain by killing you. You had bigger things to worry about."

Jimmy's blood boils again, threatening to erupt. Not only did Grant kill Charlotte and steal money from the band, but he also stole her engagement ring and kept it for himself. Jimmy flashes back to the way Charlotte smiled when he proposed, the way her eyes filled with tears, the way the ring fit perfectly around her third finger. Now it sits in her murderer's nightstand drawer.

That is not right, God damn it.

The van's on the highway now, heading south. Jimmy can't figure out where they're taking him. If they keep going south, they'll reach the Albert Bridge. And then what? Shoot him and dump his body into the Thames?

Jimmy glances around the interior of the van. He doesn't see any concrete blocks, nothing heavy to weigh him down if Cole and Grant decide to go that route. But maybe it doesn't matter. By the time Jimmy's body is discovered, it could end up miles from London. And that's not even accounting for the degradation from the water and aquatic life.

"I'm sorry about this," Grant's saying, reaching underneath the bench. Taped to the underside of the metal is a syringe with a hypodermic needle. The syringe is filled with some type of liquid.

"You're sedating me?"

"In a manner of speaking," Cole says with a hard-edged laugh. "We could just shoot you in the head and be done with it, but it would be much easier to make a drug overdose look like a suicide, especially with your past. The cops'll buy an OD easy."

"My family won't," Jimmy says, hearing the way his voice shakes. Because, deep down, he knows Cole is right.

"How could they prove it? Your medical records show you had a prescription for Valium that you took for about six months after the wreck, then you stopped," Cole explains.

Fear wraps around Jimmy's neck like a scarf. How the hell does Cole know Jimmy's medical history?

Cole continues, "Maybe you stopped taking the pills because you felt better, but I think your family and friends know that's a pile of shit. Who's to say you didn't spiral into a depression and decide to end it all?"

"I've never taken"—Jimmy squints at the syringe—"whatever that is in my life."

"And there's the beauty part," Cole says, "'cause maybe you were experimentin' with drugs and accidentally took too much. You wouldn't have known how much to shoot up, right? You just wanted a reprieve from the pain."

Jimmy's heart pounds in his chest. He has to make a move now before it's too late. He doesn't doubt Grant's carrying a gun; Grant needs some insurance to make sure Jimmy keeps still for the injection.

He flicks his gaze to the back door. The locks are on. He'd never get them open in time.

Grant is too massive to fight. He's a hulking man standing six foot five and weighing maybe three-hundred pounds. Even if Jimmy landed one good blow, it wouldn't take him out. Only a weapon would slow him down enough, and Jimmy's got nothing. He can't see the bulge of Grant's gun. It's probably holstered in the back of his trousers. No chance. He'd be expecting that.

What Grant wouldn't expect is for Jimmy to voluntarily recreate the worst moment of his life. The moment that changed everything irrevocably. No one would expect Jimmy to be this crazy.

Which is exactly why he has to do it. The element of surprise.

"I'm sorry about this, Page," Grant says again, reaching behind him for the gun.

No time left. Jimmy makes his move.

He stands up and punches Cole in the back of the head.


	20. Chapter 20

Robert's first sign that something's wrong occurs when he sees Jimmy's car parked in the driveway of his home. A flicker of horror flashes in Robert's brain. Jimmy's been digging into some heavy, dark secrets lately. Secrets people would kill to protect. What if Grant or Cole took Jimmy by surprise and...

Robert has to flinch away from the thought of someone hurting Jimmy. It's too much, too raw.

What if Jimmy wasn't murdered at all? What if he's in there, lifeless, all the awful revelations of the past few days too much for him?

No, no, no. Jimmy  _wouldn't_. Not now, not when he was slowly getting better. If Jimmy was going to make good on killing himself, wouldn't he have done it at his lowest point: after the accident?

Jonesy rushes out his front door as Robert heads up the walkway to Jimmy's house. He looks like he's trying his hardest not to panic. "Have you heard anything from Pagey?" Robert asks.

"We've got a problem."

Robert's heart sinks in his chest like a stone. "What's wrong?"

"Jimmy left with two strange men a little while ago. He got into a white, unmarked van."

"Did you—what did they look like?"

"One was a huge chap. Sort of balding on top, big beard—"

Robert feels like he might collapse. "Peter Grant..."

Jonesy's eyes go wide. "You know him, then?"

"Please tell me you rang the police," Robert begs.

"Of course! I could tell something was wrong. He was supposed to pick up Scarlet. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was going out with some friends. Jimmy doesn't make friends. It took him five years to meet you. And he called me 'John.' He doesn't do that unless he's cross with me, and he seemed cordial enough."

Robert's eyes are wet from holding back tears. Every fiber of his being screams at him to do something, but what can he do? "Scarlet's not at school. We thought she would be safer if we moved her someplace else for a few days," Robert says in a rush.

"Jimmy didn't say anything about that," Jonesy says, as though understanding. "He said something like, 'Oh, Robert can just bring her home.'"

"He probably didn't want to tip them off that she wasn't at school."

"I got the plates and the make of the van. So that's something. And they headed south. I don't know if that means anything or not."

Robert shakes his head. "I—I have to call Bonzo." He turns, heading for Jimmy's house, but Jonesy stops him.

"Wait, don't—Use our place. I think they were waiting for Jimmy inside his home." Jonesy's brow creases with worry. "Just in case."

Robert doesn't have to be told twice.

* * *

At the moment Jimmy's fist hits Cole's skull, Grant tackles Jimmy and drops him hard against the floor. But the punch served its purpose. Cole's head jerks to the side, his hands leaving the steering wheel. The van swerves, sending its passengers rolling and airborne.

Grant pins Jimmy and slams his fist into his gut. Jimmy's almost certain Grant's knuckles scrape the van floor. The air rushes out of his lungs, his breath gone. Every cell in his body craves oxygen.

The van's still veering as Cole tries to regain control.

Jimmy forms the fingers of his right hand into a claw. His hand shoots forward, aiming straight for the trachea. If Jimmy could breathe properly, he'd have the strength to tear into Grant's windpipe with a talon-like grip. But the impact is enough to buy Jimmy a few precious seconds. He rolls out from underneath Grant. His eyes scan the floor for a gun or the syringe. Nothing.

Jimmy grabs onto the front seat for balance. He has to take out Cole and stop this van. Another punch has the van skidding across the lanes, heading right for a telephone pole. Jimmy braces himself for the impact, but Cole jerks the wheel in the opposite direction.

Bad move.

The world is spinning, rolling and rolling in sickening circles. Jimmy's head smacks against the floor of the van, hard enough that he feels his brain jarring loose from its moorings. His legs crash against the metal bench. His arm slams into the side of the van and snaps as though it's been cracked into bone fragments.

But Grant's rolling too, bouncing around like a pinball. Jimmy vaguely remembers something about the mass of an object and velocity before Grant collides with him. Grant's body becomes a piledriver, crushing Jimmy's ribs so hard he fears the whole cage might cave in like a bird's nest. Pain sears through him. Jimmy hears a whimpering sound, realizes that it's coming from him.

Then it all stops as suddenly as it started. The van's no longer moving. Cole is slumped over the steering wheel. Jimmy's not going to waste time checking for a pulse. He doesn't have eyes on a gun, but it doesn't matter. Get out. Get out now.

Jimmy shoves Grant's body away, and pain bursts throughout him like an explosion of razor blades. He can't imagine how he's still moving, but when your life is in danger, things like pain and exhaustion become, at best, secondary. He drags himself across the van floor and, with his good arm, Jimmy works open the lock on the back door. He pulls the handle and feels someone squeezing above his elbow, fingers digging into a bundle of nerves inside of his broken arm.

Jimmy's grip slackens as agony rips through him. His body feels on fire, the pressure in his skull building and blowing every thought out of his head. His vision goes blurry as blackness seeps in around the edges. Grant doesn't let go, each finger a stab of agony into Jimmy's skin, whole nerve endings torn from their roots and tossed aside.

Jimmy fights through the pain and pulls the handle on the back door. He contorts his body like an animal wrenching from a trap, desperate for a moment's relief from the pain. He takes a look over his shoulder at Grant. Jimmy throws a kick that lands on the inside of Grant's elbow, forcing him to let go. The pain in Jimmy's arm recedes to manageable levels, and he can breathe again.

Jimmy moves to roll out the back of the van, but Grant grabs his hair and drags him backwards. A fatal move. Jimmy lets himself be pulled, lets Grant's arms encircle his aching, fractured ribs. Then Jimmy snaps his head back and head-butts Grant square in the nose. The skull is hard and heavy; the face being hit is neither.

Grant's nose explodes like a water balloon. Jimmy feels something warm and sticky in his hair. Grant's grip slackens, and Jimmy scrambles out the back of the van. He lands hard on his right shoulder. A thunderbolt of pain rockets through his broken arm. Jimmy stands up, ignoring the hot knives blasting in his nerves, and runs into the street.

* * *

Bonzo's always had a way of preventing Robert from losing his shit, even in the most emotionally-charged moments. Must be his police training. "From what I hear, there's squad cars all over. If he's heading south, he might be trying to cross one of the bridges. They've blocked off the most popular escape routes. And they know what car and plates to look for, so we've got a leg up on the bastard."

Robert's huddled on the couch in Jonesy's living room, his knees drawn up to his chest. The phone cord's stretched hilariously from the kitchen to the couch. "What if they don't find him in time? What if he—"

"Hey, hey, c'mon. Jim's a smart guy. He'll find himself a way out of this."

Robert turns his head to look out the back porch at Jonesy's two daughters, who are playing in the yard with the dog. He envies their ignorance of the panic suffocating his every cell. There is something so wonderfully delicate about childhood, something that must be protected at all costs.

"They're going to kill him, Bonz'. You know that. Jimmy was—Jimmy was the one they wanted in the first place."

Bonzo sighs long and crackly into the receiver. "And I'm sure Jimmy knows that. He's got you and Scarlet; family makes a man fight like hell."

"But that's not always enough. There's luck and randomness and chaos, things you can't fight against." Karac and Charlotte died by the cruel hand of absolute chaos; Robert and Jimmy still bear the scars.

"Aren't you s'posed to be the optimistic one?" Bonzo says with a hint of humor.

"Not the best day for that, I'm afraid."

"Good vibes go a long way—Hold on a tic, I'm getting another call." Bonzo abandons the line momentarily, and Robert sort of sighs, slumping into the couch cushions. He doesn't know why, but he feels immense security through this link, however tenuous, to Bonzo. Bonzo has always made him feel safe. If anyone can pull Robert through this, it will be John Bonham.

Jonesy approaches and leans against the back of the couch. "You holding up okay?" he asks with a pained sort of expression, as though sharing Robert's agony.

"I just—I just want him to be safe," Robert murmurs. "I can't lose someone again. Not like this." Fresh tears well in his eyes. "And, God, what will this do to Scarlet?"

Jonesy walks around the couch and sits beside him. "I've never experienced loss the way you and Jimmy have. I've seen loss ravage friends and family, but there's always been a degree or two of separation. And it terrifies me, because I know my turn is coming. Something awful will happen to someone I love. I'll lose one of the girls or Mo or my folks or Jim or Scarlet or you."

Robert had not expected Jonesy to include him there, which almost makes his tears spring anew.

"It's like my life is a dream I'm on the verge of waking up from," Jonesy continues. "One day I'll wake up and it'll all be gone forever. They say the first cut is the deepest, yeah? I've always hoped the peripheral loss I've experienced might have, in some way, prepared me for whatever awful thing is going to happen, but of course you can't ever be ready for something like that."

Robert opens his mouth to speak when Bonzo's voice cuts in on the phone: "They found Jimmy."


	21. Chapter 21

Jimmy wakes up in an empty hospital room, blissfully numb from morphine. The curtains are open inside the room, the dying orange of the sun peering in, which seems obscene in this particular setting. He looks down at his body. His right arm is encased in a thick plaster cast and contained in a sling. Looks like he won't be playing guitar for a while.

He stares at the empty chair beside his bed, as though willing someone to appear there. It feels wrong somehow that no one is here with him. Last time he was in a hospital, at least his parents were there.

Maybe the reason no one's here is because no one knows he's hurt. Jimmy turns his head and sees a phone on the end table. Reaching for the phone is hell on his cracked ribs, but he manages to get his fingers around the receiver on the second or third try. He dials his home number, but it rings and rings and no one answers. Eventually, Jimmy gives up, tries Robert's flat instead.

No answer.

Panic seizes his chest. As a last resort, he dials Jonesy's number, and the sound of neverending rings makes his heart sink.

How is it possible that no one in Jimmy's life is available in his moment of need? You're supposed to make your way through life becoming more substantial as you go, but right now Jimmy feels more alone than he's ever been.

Desperate, he dials one last number. The voice on the other end of the line calms him in a primordial way. "Hello?"

"Mum? It's me."

"Jim! What is it, dear? Is something wrong?"

"I'm, um..." He hesitates, like he's a child again, about to admit something that might get him in trouble. "I'm in the hospital?"

Mum gasps. "Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Where's Scarlet?"

"She's—she's with a friend. She's safe..." He trails off, not wanting to worry her too much.

Mum isn't having any of that, though. "What hospital?"

Jimmy inspects the hospital bracelet around his left wrist. "Um, Royal Brompton Hospital."

"What are you doing way out there?"

Vague recollections of the accident flicker in his brain. "'S a long story."

"You can tell me all about it when I get there."

"N—no, wait, don't—don't come. There's no reason you should come all this way for me. I'm not—I'm fine, I think. Just a little banged up, is all. I guess—I called you because I wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh, Jim," Mum sighs, but she backs off. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah, me too." He's about to say something more when the door to his room pushes open. "Um, I have to go."

"Alright. You be careful, now."

"I will."

* * *

Bonzo's already at the hospital with Scarlet by the time Robert arrives. The door to Jimmy's room is closed, and Bonzo's sitting nearby as though guarding it from intruders. "Is he alright? What happened?" Robert asks.

"Jimmy's a little fuzzy on some of the details," Bonzo says, like he's part of the investigation, "but there were a lot of bystanders who all agreed on the big parts. According to the eyewitnesses, the white van that took Jimmy crashed somewhere on Oakley. Apparently the van driver died on impact. Jimmy got out from the back of the van and ran into the street. His captor pursued on foot but didn't fare too well with the traffic."

Robert winces at the thought.

"There was a gun in the van that belonged to one of the suspects," Bonzo continues. "No bullets fired. They also found a syringe with some sort of unidentified substance. Probably drugs."

Tears push at Robert's eyes. "Are we allowed to see him?"

"Sure, Scarlet and I went in there after the police took his statement."

That's all the permission Robert needs. He pushes the door open and steps inside.

There are machines and tubes and antiseptic smells and bright white walls, but all Robert sees is Jimmy lying in the middle of it all. He looks small and fragile in the bed, like a wounded bird. His eyes have a vacant thousand-yard-stare, blank and unseeing.

"Pagey?"

Jimmy raises his head, and a smile forms on his mouth. Then he starts crying. You can only be strong for so long, Robert figures.

Robert sits in the chair at Jimmy's bedside and lays a hand on his cast. He wonders what's flowing through the intravenous tube in Jimmy's arm. Probably some amazing painkillers.

With his good arm, Jimmy reaches out and covers Robert's hand with his own. He's survived so much, and just when he seemed to have the promise of a new life in his grasp... What the hell happened in that van?

"I'm so glad you're okay," Robert says.

"I shouldn't be," Jimmy murmurs.

Robert feels a cold finger trace down his spine. "Pagey, will you tell me what happened?"

It takes him a few seconds, but eventually he says, "It was my fault." His voice is ravaged with grief. "Charlotte died because Grant and Cole were trying to kill me. They were embezzling money from the band, and they thought I was going to find out because I was looking into the finances. Keith was right; I killed her."

"Pagey, that's not... No." Robert doesn't know if any combination of words exists to relieve Jimmy of the poisonous guilt he carries.

"If I hadn't dug around in the band's finances, this never would have happened."

"How were you supposed to know what was going on?" Robert protests. "For all you knew, it was just a miscalculation. They shouldn't have been stealing in the first place. And they shouldn't have cut the brakes on your car. They're the ones to blame."

Jimmy doesn't answer, looking pained, like this conversation has stabbed someplace raw that he never wanted anyone to touch.

"How can you sit there and blame yourself, but in the same breath you'll tell me what happened to Karac isn't my fault?"

"Because it wasn't as though you were the one who was supposed to get sick and Karac got it instead."

Robert rakes a hand through his hair. Jimmy is impossible. He decides to change the subject. "How did you hurt your arm?"

"I made Cole wreck the van."

Robert tries to imagine how horrible that must have been, recreating the worst moment of your life in order to save it. "I s'pose it worked." He wets his mouth and adds, "Bonzo says a syringe was found in the van."

"They thought an overdose would look like a more convincing suicide." Tears spill down Jimmy's cheeks, and Robert wipes them away with his thumbs. Jimmy squeezes his eyes shut, like a child trying to make the bogeyman go away. "And they were right."

Robert tiptoes around that emotional landmine. "Why did they want to kill you this time? Because we were looking into the accident?"

Jimmy nods slowly. "I convinced Keith to go to the police. Apparently they had eyes on him, and seeing me suddenly visit Keith twice after five years of no contact, then he goes to the cops... They got paranoid. They figured the police probably wouldn't believe Keith but would believe me. Anything Keith told the police would be hearsay, but I was involved in the accident. I discovered the cut brake line. I knew about the money. I was a more dangerous witness, so they had to make sure I couldn't talk."

Robert cannot believe how close he came to losing Jimmy. If he thinks about it too much, it'll crush him, so he forces it away. Right now, he has to be strong for Jimmy. "But we're safe now, right?"

Another nod. Jimmy turns his head, which must be an arduous task, and looks at him. "Would you have believed it was a suicide?"

"N—no, of course not," Robert answers, because that's what you say. But he would have always wondered.

"Don't lie to me," Jimmy says, his voice breaking. The tears flow anew. "Some part of you would have believed it. And that's my fault, I know it. I've been horrible." He chokes out a sob and lifts his good arm to wipe his face. "You and Scarlet deserve better. So I'm going to be better. I promise."

"Just like that? What about the test results?"

"Well, if they come back positive, then I really shouldn't be wasting time, yeah?"

Robert smiles, thrilled by Jimmy's optimism. His gaze flicks to the cast wrapped around Jimmy's arm. "Doesn't look like you'll be doing much of anything for a while. Y'know, I'll be happy to help you with anything you need."

"That might be hard to do, considering you live a bit of a distance away," Jimmy says with a hint of a smile on his lips. "Maybe you should think about relocating."

"It's a bit pricey out where you are," Robert sort of whines. "Not all of us are rich rock stars, you know."

Jimmy scrubs a hand over his face, which must take a considerable amount of effort. "Jesus Christ, Robert, just move in with us already. You practically live there anyway."

Robert gasps. "Are you—are you serious? Pagey, I'm honored, but I'm still Scarlet's teacher until May."

"Fuck," Jimmy grumbles, exhaling a sigh that seems to deflate him. "Never mind, ignore that. I'm all doped up on pain meds anyway. I'm talking crazy."

"I think you want me to move in."

Jimmy rolls his eyes. "Yeah, maybe I do. Don't make a big fucking deal of it."

Robert laughs and kisses the words out of his mouth.

* * *

A little while later, Jonesy enters Jimmy's room, and Jimmy feels an overwhelming surge of regret at the pained look on Jonesy's face. He must look a sight.

"You should see the other guys," Jimmy jokes, but it's weak.

Jonesy returns the half-assed smile and sits gingerly in the chair beside the bed. "I take it you're feeling better?"

"I'm alive," Jimmy says. "I think that's cause for celebration."

Jonesy grins, like Jimmy's positivity has warmed him. "It is."

Jimmy studies Jonesy's face for a moment or two. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For everything," Jimmy says, staring at the metal rails on the side of the bed. "I've been a pain in the arse, and you've been nothing but understanding."

"You're family," Jonesy says simply. "Family's supposed to be a pain in the arse."

"Ooh, deflecting emotions with humor. I've taught you well."

"It's a wonder you ever convey an honest emotion with Robert."

"Who says I do?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if you didn't."

Jimmy shrugs. "Fair enough." He turns his good arm ever so slightly, just enough to see where the IV's feeding under the thin skin of his wrist. "I'm gonna try to be better," he says. "For Scarlet, for Robert, for you."

"I'm so honored to be last on your list."

"Hey, Robert's the one who has to live with me."

Jonesy's eyes go wide. "You asked him to move in?"

"Over the summer, yeah. It'll be good for Scarlet, having two parents 'round the house."

Jonesy gives him  _the look_. "And good for you."

"Let's pretend I'm making some great sacrifice by letting Robert move in. I mean, he's a hippie; he probably finds altruism sexy."

Jonesy laughs, and Jimmy's so fucking glad he's alive to hear it.

* * *

Jimmy's parents arrive at the hospital by nightfall. Mum rushes in first, hugging him tightly. Relief washes over Jimmy at the sight of his parents. Dad sits at Jimmy's bedside and lays a hand on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't have come all the way out here," Jimmy says. "I told you I'm fine." Deep down, he's glad they're with him, but he dare not show how vulnerable he is right now.

"Oh, rubbish, you're our son!" Mum argues. "You think I won't come running if you tell me you're in the hospital?"

"Yeah, I guess that was a mistake," Jimmy says with a half-smile.

"Is Robert taking care of Scarlet?" Mum asks, as though they've met.

"Yeah. They're at home." Jimmy tries to scoot up in the bed, but his cracked ribs scream in protest. He's got no idea how he's supposed to sleep without the aid of painkillers. He's a side-sleeper; he just can't get comfortable on his back, but even the slightest tilt to the side sends a hot wave of pain through his ribs. So that's fun.

Mum smooths Jimmy's hair off his forehead. "Goodness, you're so pale. Haven't you been getting any sleep?"

"It's a long story."

"You told me that on the phone."

"Because it is."

"Well, we're here now," Mum says, pulling up another chair opposite Dad. "Can you at least tell us how you ended up in a hospital bed with a broken arm?"

So Jimmy does. He tells them everything, starting from finding the note in his house and ending with his last recollections of the accident. He doesn't leave out anything, not even the parts about his relationship with Robert or the paternity issue. When he's finished, his parents' eyes are wet and red. Jimmy doesn't realize he's crying too until Mum reaches out and wipes a tear from his cheek.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she says.

Dad exhales a troubled breath and squeezes Jimmy's hand. "These men that hurt you and Charlotte..."

Jimmy knows where that sentence is going. "They're dead."

Dad nods as though he was hoping for that answer. "What about Scarlet? Did you—when you both were tested, did you have some sort of test done to make sure...?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "Would it matter to you if I wasn't biologically yours?"

"Well, no, but I'd have to have a word with your mother."

Mum laughs, and Jimmy cracks a smile. "I thought about it," Jimmy admits, "but in the end it really doesn't make much of a difference. I'm her father, and she's my daughter."

They're quiet for a moment, then Mum asks, "Have you made any arrangements for your recovery?" Jimmy hears the subtext in that sentence. She wants to help, wants to be there for him.

"Oh, um, I might have given Robert the honors, since I didn't know you were coming."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Mum says.

Jimmy doesn't have the heart to argue with her. If she wants to stay a few nights and help him around the house, all the better.

"I'd like to meet him," Dad says, surprising everyone. "A father ought to meet his future son-in-law, wouldn't you say?"

Jimmy groans, pretending to be embarrassed, but he's thrilled his father is taking this so well. He figures maybe nearly losing your son in a freak accident—twice—is a pretty effective method of giving zero fucks about his sexual proclivities. "Please don't call him that when you meet him."

"I'm not making any promises."

Mum and Dad stay all night next to Jimmy's bed, bringing him water and adjusting his pillows. At some point in the night, a nurse stops in with another dose of pain medication, and Jimmy sleeps better than he has in weeks.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is; the last chapter. Posting this is kinda bittersweet, like it's the end of an era. I started this story almost exactly 8 months ago, can you believe that????

The next afternoon, Robert's supervising his students through a fingerpainting exercise when his classroom phone rings. The voice on the other end is certainly a thrill. "Hey, it's me. I thought I'd warn you ahead of time that when you get to the house you're gonna have to deal with my parents being overbearing and well-meaning."

Robert can hear a woman's voice scolding Jimmy. "I don't think it's overbearing to want to know the kind of person my son is dating, Jim. Don't be a smart-mouth."

Jimmy sighs into the receiver. "See what I mean? I wouldn't blame you if you took Scarlet to stay with you for a couple days 'til they lose interest."

Robert chuckles, his heart light and flighty in his chest. "It's only proper for me to meet your parents, Pagey. Does this mean you got released from the hospital?"

"Yeah, I sort of promised them they could stay a few nights and help me around the house while you're at work," Jimmy says like he deeply regrets this decision.

"That's great! I'm glad you'll be taken care of when I'm not around."

Another sigh. "I broke my arm. I think I'm capable of basic functions without burning the bloody house down."

"Cracked ribs aren't gonna heal themselves. You need your rest."

"Yes, they do heal themselves, Robert. That's sort of how bones work."

Jimmy's mother cuts in: "Jim, what did I say about that smart mouth? He's your boyfriend. Be nice."

"Anyway, I wanted to warn you," Jimmy says, and Robert can practically hear the way he's rolling his eyes right now. "I'll see you soon. Or maybe not."

"Ha-ha."

"I love you," Jimmy says. Robert's heart soars and sings.

"I love you too."

That gets Scarlet's attention, and when Robert hangs up she asks, "Was that my Daddy?"

"Yes, it was, and he's very excited to see you."

"And you too!" Scarlet insists, and Robert knows she's right.

When Robert brings Scarlet home after school, the house is filled with the savory smells of delicious food. Jimmy's parents have taken control of the kitchen, but they drop everything when Robert walks through the door.

"Grandma! Grandpa!" Scarlet rushes toward them, latching onto Mrs. Page's legs. "Did you see Daddy broke his arm?"

"Yes, I did! That's why we're here, so we can help him."

Robert's perfectly content hanging back, because he's never been the best at meeting the parents of the person he's dating. Somehow all the words fall out of his brain, and he either rambles like an idiot or says very little, which gives a horrible impression. He hopes this will be the last time he ever has to do this.

Mr. Page is the first to approach him. "Robert, eh? It's nice to finally meet you." His handshake is firm and strong, and Robert's already terrified. He's never really learned the secrets of a good handshake, so he tries to match Mr. Page's strength. "Whoa, easy, mate, you're not cracking walnuts here!"

"Oh, sorry!" Robert drops his hand away as though he's been burned. "Sorry, that's my nut-cracking hand." As the words leave his mouth, he realizes that probably wasn't the best combination of words to use.

Mr. Page cracks a smirk. "Well, in that case, I'm glad I'm not Jimmy."

Robert prays for the earth to swallow him. "Now I see where he gets his sense of humor." He tries a smile, but it feels like more of a wince, like he's waiting to be slapped. He has to remind himself that Jimmy's father is most likely nothing like his own, that the fact Jimmy's parents are greeting him so cordially is proof of the fact.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed. Jimmy speaks very highly of you, you know."

Robert didn't know it was possible to blush this hard. "Not—not about that, I hope."

Mr. Page laughs, claps a hand on Robert's shoulder and glances at Mrs. Page. "I like him."

Mrs. Page nudges her husband aside to introduce herself. "Goodness, Jimmy never said a word about how handsome you are!"

Robert chuckles, rubs the back of his neck. "I imagine he wouldn't."

"He's always been very secretive," Mrs. Page says. She takes Robert's hand in both of her own. "It's so good to meet you. When Jimmy told me he was dating Scarlet's teacher, I imagined you looked like some stuffy old English professor."

"I'm, uh, I'm glad I defied your expectations, then."

"Why, if I were twenty years younger I'd consider stealing you for myself."

"Okay, Mum, that's enough," Jimmy calls from the staircase, a strain of annoyance in his voice.

As Robert rushes to help Jimmy, Mrs. Page calls back, "Jim, I thought I told you not to overexert yourself! We'll bring you a plate when supper's ready."

Jimmy sighs, and Robert helps him down the stairs. "I broke my arm, Robert, not my legs," Jimmy murmurs. When he gets to the foot of the staircase, he says, "Mum, as much as I'd love to avoid what I'm sure is going to be an awkward dinner, I think I ought to be here for moral support."

"Oh, nonsense! We'll be fine."

"Moral support for  _Robert_ ," Jimmy clarifies.

"Dinner and a show," Robert whispers, and Jimmy snickers.

"Daddy!" Scarlet darts toward Jimmy and latches onto his legs.

"Hello, darling. I won't be able to pick you up for a while," Jimmy says, pushing a hand through her hair.

"'S'okay, I'm glad you're home."

Jimmy becomes aware that his parents are watching him, and that Robert's hands have settled on his waist. Robert isn't sure how he's supposed to act here, if touching Jimmy too much will offend them in some way or if not touching him at all will make Robert seem distant and uncaring. Jimmy looks at them and says, "So, uh, you're really okay with this?"

"What do you want, Jim? We're old; we don't do cartwheels. We're happy for you," Mr. Page says, good-naturedly. "Now, come on, dinner's almost ready."

* * *

Two weeks later, Robert rouses Jimmy from a late afternoon nap. "Pagey, Dr. Fallon's on the phone for you."

Dr. Fallon. The test results. Oh fuck. The air suddenly grows thick, as if Jimmy's inhaling syrup. He feels light-headed despite lying down. "Oh..." Robert helps him up and out of bed, but even his touch doesn't ease Jimmy's sweaty back, clammy hands, and shaky legs. "Did he—did he sound like he was about to deliver bad news?"

"I'm sure everything's fine, love," Robert says, but Jimmy thinks he hears a hint of worry in his voice. Because if the test comes back positive, Robert's infected too.

Jimmy can see the phone lying on the kitchen counter, and seeds of panic germinate in his belly. He's not ready for this. He can't handle another bitchslap by the cruel hand of fate or destiny or karma or whatever the hell's responsible for the cataclysmic devastastion he's had to live through.

With a trembling hand, Jimmy lifts the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"Mr. Page? Hi, it's Dr. Fallon from Kingston Hospital. I heard about your little accident. How are you feeling?"

"That, uh, that really all depends on what you have to tell me."

"Well, you and your daughter's tests both came back negative, so that should make you feel a bit better, yeah?"

Jimmy opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Inside him, relief floods through his veins, his cells morphing and shifting, adapting to this new reality. "Y—yeah, absolutely. Thank you."

"No problem. Now you take it easy. Doctor's orders."

"Thanks..." Jimmy's still sort of stunned when he hangs up the phone, but as soon as Robert moves closer, his gaze probing for answers, Jimmy collapses into his arms and weeps.

* * *

_Three months later..._

The sky is pouring rain the morning of Keith's funeral, and the Yardbirds have reunited one final time in the cemetery to bear the coffin into its grave. The rain soaks Jimmy, and the muddy ground swallows up his dress shoes like quicksand. The casket is meticulously buffed, but the showroom shine doesn't hide the fact that the water, seeping into the pine, has released the scent of death and decay.

Chris Dreja and Jimmy are at the head of the coffin, and Jeff Beck is in the middle. Jim McCarty and Paul Samwell-Smith carry the foot of the coffin. Jimmy hasn't seen Paul since 1966 at the fateful Oxford show when Paul quit and Jimmy took up the helm as a temporary bassist.

Once the pallbearers lower the coffin onto the hydraulic frame rigged over the grave, they step away and join the crowd graveside. As the rain crashes down against their umbrellas, Jeff asks Jimmy, "You didn't bring Robert?" No doubt he's curious to meet the man who won Jimmy's heart—read: his competition.

"No reason for him to be here, really. He didn't know Keith."

They stand in silence as Keith's sister, Jane, delivers a short eulogy, and for a brief moment, Jimmy feels deeply sorry for her. Then the coffin is lowered in to the ground.

"You still hate him?" Jeff murmurs.

After the incident with Grant and Cole, Jeff called Jimmy, curious for details. So Jimmy told him everything.

Jimmy shrugs. "What would be the point? What's done is done. It's not as though Charlotte was entirely blameless either." He stares at the coffin as it descends and feels a wave of remorse and regret wash over him. "I think I always intended to forgive him. I just wish I'd done it while he was alive. But holding on to things like anger and grief... it's a waste of life."

After the casket is buried in the earth, the remaining Yardbirds linger there, standing under umbrellas as the rain pours down. "We should do a reunion show," Jimmy says. "Sort of a one-night-only kind of thing. For charity."

"He'd like that," Chris says with a nod.

Jeff gives Jimmy a curious look. "You think you owe him?"

Jimmy thinks about how, if Charlotte hadn't died, maybe she would have gone back to Keith. Maybe they had something better than Jimmy offered. She would never know, because of Jimmy. More importantly, if Keith hadn't sent Jimmy that letter, he never would have brought Charlotte's killer to justice.

"Maybe I do," Jimmy says, his chest spasming involuntarily as they look at the fresh grave. He thinks he might be crying, but under the constant spray of rain it's difficult to tell.

* * *

_July 1976_

Jimmy takes Scarlet and Robert to Disney World for a week-long summer vacation. He learns that this is Robert's first time at an amusement park, so Jimmy insists they see all the attractions, which Robert and Scarlet are totally down for. The first two days are dedicated to exploring the Magic Kingdom. They take Scarlet on the Jungle Cruise, the canoes, and the riverboat, until she insists she's too big for the kiddie rides, so they ride the Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion. Robert and Scarlet unanimously decide their favorite park is Fantasyland, while Jimmy prefers Liberty Square.

Minnie Mouse takes their picture with Cinderella Castle behind them. There are plenty of photographs in Jimmy's home of himself, Scarlet, Charlotte, and even Robert, but very few pictures exist of his family, in some form or another, together, as though he's just bit player in their recorded history. There are entire years where Jimmy was never photographed at all, so he thinks it's important to chronicle the steady development of his new family.

The third day is spent at the golf courses and the shopping village. Robert's absolutely rubbish at golf, and Jimmy laughs a lot at his wild swings. "Nice shot, Arnold Palmer," Jimmy teases, before sidling up beside Robert and showing him how to do it properly.

"I thought you said you weren't any good at sports," Robert whines.

"I grew up in the country. Lots of land for golfing."

On the fourth day, they visit the newly-opened water park, where Jimmy watches them from the safety of the powdery sand and a beach umbrella. Robert teaches Scarlet how to swim, and Jimmy falls in love with him a little more.

That night, they're settled in their room at the Contemporary Tower, Scarlet's fallen asleep with her head on Robert's lap. Jimmy sits beside him on the floor, leaning against one of the beds as they sip sparkly white wine. "I'm so glad we did this," he says after a sigh of contentment.

"You sure know how to show a guy a good time," Robert jokes. "I haven't had this much fun since... well, since we started dating."

"You mean I could'a just taken you to some abandoned park and shared a joint with you? Man, did I overshoot that one. You're a cheap date, Mr. Plant."

Robert huffs a laugh, his mouth pulled into that crooked grin Jimmy knows so well. "I'm not cheap, I'm low maintenance."

"Is that what they're calling it now?" Jimmy leans against him, rests his head against Robert's own. "Well, Mr. Low Maintenance, we leave on the twenty-eighth, so you've still got three more days to enjoy the Magic Kingdom."

Robert's quiet for a moment, then his expression crumbles. "What, what's wrong?" Jimmy asks. "You're not going to be all depressed about leaving, too, are you? It's bad enough that Scarlet's going to beg us to stay—"

"It's not that," Robert says, his voice nearly a whisper. "It's—Today... It's been a year since Karac..."

Oh shit. Despair grips Jimmy's heart, and he can read the sadness in Robert's eyes so clearly, having seen it reflected back in his own for years. Guilt. "And you forgot..."

Robert nods, drawing in a shaky breath. "If you hadn't told me the date, I wouldn't have..." His lower lip quivers, and he shakes his head. "I'm a horrible father."

"No, you're not," Jimmy insists. "Look at her."

Robert's gaze drops to the way Scarlet's fallen asleep in his lap, her tiny hands curled around a plush bear he'd given her for her birthday.

"She adores you," Jimmy says, as though it isn't obvious. "And if Karac's even half as kind and loving as his father, he wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over this."

Robert wipes his watery eyes with the back of his hand. "I  _forgot_  him, Pagey."

"But you remembered."

Robert strokes a careful hand through Scarlet's hair. "He should have been here with us."

Jimmy nods. "I'm sorry," he says in a small voice, lacing his fingers with Robert's own.

* * *

_August 20_ _th_ _, 1976_

The first floor of Jimmy's house is more occupied than it's ever been. Jonesy and his daughters mill about in the family room, while Pat and Mo chat in the kitchen and frost Robert's birthday cake. Scarlet's out in the back yard playing with Jason and Strider, Robert's new dog and surprise birthday present. Bonzo's currently out with Robert helping him pack and move the last few things from his flat over to Jimmy's place.

Jimmy's watching the kids play outside, the phone cord stretched across the room while he talks with Jeff Beck, who's putting together a good deal of the upcoming Yardbirds tribute/reunion show. His ongoing crush on Jimmy makes him eager to please. "Congrats on the producer gig, by the way," Jeff's saying. "It's about time you moved up in the world."

"Thanks, it's been great so far."

"You ever think about playing again?"

"All the time," Jimmy admits with a chuckle. "I can't wait." The reunion show will be the first time Jimmy's played guitar onstage in six years. "Don't overshadow me, Beck. I'm a little rusty."

"I doubt that." Jeff pauses, then: "What's all the commotion? You havin' a party?"

"It's Robert's birthday."

"He's a lucky man, Page. I knew I should've snatched you up when I had the chance."

"I'm glad you didn't. No offense."

Jeff laughs. They can joke about it now, which makes things feel like old times again.

Robert walks through the door about thirty minutes later, Bonzo trailing behind him carrying an oversized box. Robert gets a look at the crowd, and a smile breaks across his face. "What's the occasion, Pagey?"

"It's your birthday, remember?"

Robert blinks. "All of this is for me?"

"Of course. We're your family."

Robert opens his mouth to say something, but it's then he spots the dog lying on the couch with its head in Scarlet's lap. He kneels down to scratch the pup behind the ears. "Well, hello there. What's your name?"

"Strider," Scarlet says, proudly. "We got him for you."

"You did?" Robert looks at Jimmy. "You got me a dog?"

"Happy birthday!" Jimmy says with a pained smile, because, oh shit, what if Robert's more of a cat person? Maybe he'd prefer an exotic bird?

But Robert grins and rubs Strider's head, kisses his snout, and Jimmy can just tell Robert's one of  _those_  people who treat their pets like their children.

There aren't enough chairs for everyone to sit at the dinner table, so when the food's ready they all congregate in the family room to eat. The kids sit on the floor, while the adults squeeze together on the couch. Jimmy ends up sitting in Robert's lap, which Robert seems totally fine with.

"It's great to see Bonzo and Jonesy getting on together," Robert says, watching the two of them gathered in the kitchen. Bonzo's mixing a drink for Jonesy, who looks amused by the whole thing.

"Did you think they wouldn't like each other?" Jimmy asks.

"I worried maybe Jonesy wouldn't like Bonzo, since they're total opposites."

Jimmy huffs a laugh. "Jonesy needs someone loud and boisterous in his life." Jonesy takes a drink from whatever concoction Bonzo's handed him. He makes a face, wincing as though he just drank gasoline, and Bonzo laughs uproariously and slaps him on the back.

Robert smiles, looks at Jimmy with such fondness Jimmy almost looks away, because it's too much. He feels love spreading through every part of him, warm and soothing like whisky. "Thank you," Robert says, and it takes Jimmy a moment to realize what exactly Robert's thanking him for. A year ago, Robert was alone, suffering through the loss of his son and the dissolution of his marriage. Now he's surrounded by people who love him, effortlessly weaved into fabric of Jimmy's family.

Jimmy drapes an arm around Robert's shoulder, fingers tickling the back of his neck. "Anytime."

There's a knock on the door, and Jimmy slides off Robert's lap to answer it. "Who's that?" Robert asks.

"Oh, I invited someone I've been told you'll be happy to see."

"Promise me it's not my parents."

"No, no, don't worry." Jimmy pulls open the door, and Maureen's standing there with an awkward smile, as though she isn't sure she should have come.

"You must be Jimmy," she says. "It's good to finally meet you."

"Maureen?" Robert's up and pushing Jimmy aside to speak with her. "Pagey invited you?"

Her smile brightens when she sees Robert, all awkwardness gone. She nods, says, "He's very charming. I can see why you fell for him."

Robert takes her hand and leads her inside. "You really don't mind? I mean, you're okay with this?"

"It's been a very long time since I've seen you happy, Robert," Maureen says, laying her hand over his own. "And at least if I can't have you, no other woman can either."

Robert introduces her to everyone with pride, and Jimmy's quite satisfied with himself.

That night, after the visitors are all gone and the house has fallen quiet, Jimmy and Robert lie in bed together, while Strider's curled up at the foot of the bed. Jimmy tried to convince the dog that the floor is much more comfortable, but Strider's bullshit detector is pretty finely-tuned.

"Thank you for a wonderful birthday," Robert says, cuddling closer into Jimmy's embrace.

"It was my pleasure." Robert traces a finger over the scar on Jimmy's arm, and the soft touch begins to lull him to sleep. "I wish I could've given you something more, but my love and an over-excitable dog will have to do."

"That's all I could ever ask for, really." Robert pauses. "Well, the dog was a surprise."

Jimmy grins, feels Robert's hand push underneath his shirt, the heat of his fingers pressed against his hip. "I don't ever want you to think I've fallen out of love with you," Jimmy says. "I let myself drift with Charlotte..." He sighs, lets that one go. He'd be lying if he said there isn't a small, Charlotte-shaped hole in his heart, but it hurts less and less when she crosses his mind.

"That's not gonna happen."

Jimmy believes him. After all, experience is a brutal teacher. He slides an arm around Robert's waist and pulls him closer. "Do you think you'll ever tell your parents about us?"

"They'll be horrified," Robert says with a strained smile, and Jimmy realizes there's still so much he doesn't know about the man he loves.

"To be fair, I thought the same about mine."

"Well, you had a near-death experience to soften the blow. Kinda puts things in perspective." Jimmy smirks. "But I don't think I could ever get them to understand. They'll never know they have another grandchild."

"Their loss, I suppose," Jimmy says, nuzzling his face into Robert's throat. He closes his eyes and breathes Robert in. He's looking forward to the reunion show, to playing guitar on stage again, a throwback to the halcyon days of his youth. He's looking forward to watching Scarlet grow up, to growing old with Robert by his side.

For the first time in years, Jimmy's looking forward.

* * *

_What though the radiance that was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight, though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind._

_~_ William Wordsworth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for your lovely comments and for sticking with me through all the crap I heaped on our boys. ♥ See you in the next story~!
> 
> If you want, check out the ficmix for this story here: http://8tracks.com/sodium-amytal/five-years-gone/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [No Rest For the Wicked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494388) by [leotart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart)




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